Raising Selene
by Furiyan
Summary: Jack thought life was perfect: he had his amazing wife Elsa, his gorgeous daughter Selene, all in a beautiful home fit for a new family...until the fateful day when he came home to find that his world had crumbled to the ground. As the years went by, he learned to cope...until his life was turned upside down once again. Rated M. Cover picture is not mine.
1. The Note

**A/N: This is the second fic which I'm going to try and juggle - but what I'm going to do is focus on OGaV, and update Raising Selene as and when I have enough for a chapter. Currently I have the first four ready to go, so I've got time to jot things down.**

 **This is essentially an examination into the effect that depression and lack of communication can have upon a family unit, so I apologise in advance for hitting us right in the Jelsa part of our hearts. Needless to say, trigger warnings.**

 **Standard disclaimer applies - the rights to all the Dreamworks characters belong to that particular company, and the rights to the Disney characters belong to Disney. I do not own any of them but this plot, and any OCs that may or may not appear.**

 **"The Note"**

He has absolutely _no_ idea which particular brand of diapers to buy, and you'd think after six months of raising a child, he'd at least have an inkling.

No such luck. Jack Overland Frost is, as always, clueless. He can't really be blamed for that, though, given the complete rewiring his brain underwent since little Selene Frost was born. As far as he is concerned, a diaper is a diaper is a diaper, whether it was designed for night wear or day wear, a pull-up or one of those pain-in-the-ass contraptions with the tape that requires a third hand in order to wrap it around an energetic, constantly wriggling six-month old child.

With a pack of _Pampers_ in one hand and a pack of _Huggies_ in the other, he looks questioningly at his daughter as she is laid on a baby seat attached to the shopping trolley, gazing with her big icy blue eyes right back at him.

"What do you think, kiddo? Which one should Daddy buy?" he asks, raising eyebrow at the irony of asking a baby for clarification.

Needless to say, the only response is a _"buh?"_ combined with an incomprehensible waving of her arms discernible only to other pint-sized beings like her. With her gorgeous eyes and short-ish platinum blonde hair, it doesn't matter to him that conversations between them are one-sided. He still loves her to pieces, just as much as he loves his wife Elsa.

He smirks, and tosses _both_ packs into the trolley. "That's what I was thinking."

His mind automatically drifts to his wife as he pushes the trolley toward the huge aisle that cuts the supermarket in two, and he remarks to himself that maybe he should have reneged on his statement of invincibility that _he_ would be the one to do the shopping to give her a break, rather than the nine times out of ten that she undertakes the role.

She's been a little distant lately – well, if lately means the past six months – and he can easily tell that there's something on her mind, a thought that no matter how hard he tries, how persistent he is, she refuses to share with him. It's a thought that seems to combine itself with an expression of uncertainty and a tiny bit of fear whenever she looks at Selene, and when he glances her way the look disappears behind a feature of almost forced happiness.

She even looks at _him_ like that, sometimes, and for the life of him he can't work out why. He's asked Aster and Tooth about it, as well as his sister-in-law Anna, and none of them have a clue. She hasn't exactly been forthcoming with _them_ either – which is really odd, given how close she and her sister are.

He figures she is just incredibly tired, and she _does_ look it. All those nights where it's her turn to feed Selene, where he randomly wakes up and sees her staring into the cot with a strange expression on her face, where he soothes her back to bed and cuddles her – but it's a one-sided cuddle, she's not as receptive as she used to be – he's not surprised that she is physically drained. Being a mother is _hard_ , even when you have help in the form of the father.

As he rounds the corner into the fruit and vegetables aisle, and cheerfully passes a banana to Selene's grasping, curious, tiny little hands, his mind starts to piece things together. She doesn't talk as much as she used to before their daughter was born, and any conversations they share are usually one-sided and brief. They rarely make eye-contact, not for lack of trying, and her eating habits have gone down the drain. She barely eats half of her meals, and it's almost like each mouthful is an inconvenience to chew and a chore to swallow. She doesn't get anywhere near as much joy out of her hobby as an author, and any drafts that Jack has cheekily snuck a glance at have been depressing and dark.

Of course, he has asked her about all of this, and her reply is that she's stressed from her work as an architect, it's nothing he needs to worry about and she'll be fine. Then she flashes him that heart stealing smile that did exactly what it was meant to do all those years ago, and follows it up with a sweet yet restrained kiss on his lips, and all his concerns are forgotten.

And if he still worries – as he is apt to do – she pulls out the big guns.

" _I love you, Jack. Please don't be concerned. There's nothing wrong."_

So he leaves it, as always.

Tiny movement catches his eye as he decides between a bag of tangerines and satsumas, and he catches Selene gnawing her little gums on the stalk of the banana, her eyes wide with wonder as she stares up at the artificial strip lights suspended from the ceiling.

"You know," he says, reaching two fingers over to tickle that cute little belly, "you're adorable. I love you and your pretty mommy so much."

Selene pays him no heed as the strip lights are _far_ too interesting for her fascinated mind, but she does give him the pleasure of a short gurgle and an involuntary kicking of her legs, her body covered in a sweet little pink sleep-suit that has a picture of the moon sewn onto the front. It was the first of many things that his mother Sarah bought for them, especially when she learned that her grand-daughter would be named after the Greek goddess of the moon.

The rest of the shopping goes fairly quickly – especially as the little one is starting to become a little overwhelmed by all the background noise and random discount sale messages over the P.A. system – and as he loads up the cashier's conveyor belt with about a hundred dollars' worth of groceries, he nurses the feeling that he can't wait to get home and see his wife again, even if he's only been out with their daughter for about three hours. He smiles widely to himself, prompting a curious glance from the pretty cashier with the red hair in a bob, and she asks him a question just as he's packing the scanned diapers back into the trolley.

"Someone's on cloud nine today."

Without looking, Jack grins toothily as he loads up the trolley with the fruit and vegetables, amused at the fact that the cashier is totally, one-hundred-percent correct. He _is_ happy. He has a beautiful, intelligent wife for whom he would do anything, and a daughter who already is her spitting image and is every bit as gorgeous as she is. As far as he is concerned, he is the luckiest man alive.

"You could say that."

Understatement of the century.

* * *

The journey back is interesting, for lack of a better word. Strapped in her baby seat, Selene has spent most of the time absent-mindedly clapping her hands together with an expression of oh-my-god-best-thing-ever at each sound the tiny impacts make, gurgling happily as she watches the city go by.

Pulling up to a red light next to an intersection, he re-adjusts his navy blue hooded sweater for greater comfort and then sneaks a quick tickle of Selene's belly – as always, she is _far_ too fascinated by the huge-ass Hummer that pulled up to their right, painted a ridiculously eye-bleeding yellow and blasting out tunes made by some rapper he has no idea about. He glances over at his daughter and, with a frown, notices that she seems to be pretty interested in the earth-shakingly loud bass rhythm.

"If you think you're listening to _that_ when you're older, think again. Strictly AC/DC in my house." he warns jokingly, fully aware that the little baby hasn't the faintest idea what the devil he's on about.

And probably can't hear him, either.

The Hummer pulls right as Jack continues forward, and from then on it's pretty quiet, especially since the suburb in which they live – 1024 Burgess Hill, Arendelle City, to be exact – is one of the calmest there is. With well-tended green lawns, genial neighbours and cheerfully happy kids, it's almost a family's dream come true.

Speaking of AC/DC, he decides as he takes the first of many right and left turns that inexorably lead to their home that it's time to educate his daughter in the ways of classic rock – specifically, _Highway To Hell,_ and adeptly switches the car radio setting to CD and starts off the music _._ He can safely blame Aster for his newfound love of that band, and as Selene fixes him with a puzzled what-the-hell-is-this-crap look while he taps the steering wheel and energetically mouths along to the song a la Star Lord in _Guardians of the Galaxy_ , a wide smirk on his face as he deftly avoids forever ruining her ability to hear with his abysmally bad singing voice, he tries to make his movements as entertaining as possible whilst _not_ looking like a typical Dancing Dad.

When he turns left into their street, his efforts are rewarded by her first ever gummy smile just for him, and he almost crashes the car into a tree in gleeful shock.

So far, this is the best day ever. Well, one of quite a few 'best days', but this one definitely counts. Starting from the moment Elsa nearly pushed him out the door with a loving yet impatient kiss, to the heart-melting smile his daughter just gave him, everything is epic.

And as five o'clock in the evening swings round when he pulls up next to his wife's car on the drive, exits and unclips a gurgling Selene from the harness that keeps her safe and sound, humming AC/DC to himself as he hoists her into his left arm, all that's left is to cook Elsa's favourite meal of chicken stir fry, settle their daughter to sleep and then cuddle up to his wife for a few hours to scoff at inept answers on _Family Feud_ before retiring to bed for the night…and hopefully, she might go to sleep happy for the first time in six months.

Horny would be good too, but he'll take happy.

Sliding his key into the lock and opening the front door, he feels the delicate shifting of weight in his left arm as Selene's head turns back and forth and her arms randomly flap about, completely oblivious to the frown settling upon her father's face as his ears notice something.

The house is completely silent.

There's no ambient television noise, no music, nothing.

"Elsa?" he calls, ignoring the poking of his daughter's fingers into his ear, "we're home! Thought you might be hungry so I'm gonna make stir fry!"

Silence greets him.

"Elsa?" he calls again. "Are you okay, honey?"

No sweet voice to answer his calls, no words to bring relief to the unsettling sensation in his stomach. He quickly checks the windows of the kitchen to his right and the living room to his left. No shattered glass. Turning back to check the front door, there are no signs of forced entry, and there's no debris or signs of a struggle anywhere in the first floor of their house. For all intents and purposes, nothing but peace and quiet reigns within.

And that's what disturbs him the most.

Swallowing a feeling of mild nausea that creeps up into his throat, he carefully makes his way to the stairs at the opposite end of the living room, an amber sunset glow shining from the upstairs hallway window to greet him, and as softly as possible he ascends the steps to the second floor, his eyes quickly assessing the hallway. No signs of struggle there, either.

So what's going on? Did she decide to go for a walk or something?

 _That must be it. She went for a walk without letting me know._

Yet, the feeling of relief that _should_ come with that crappy epiphany remains out of reach, and as both feet reach the hallway and make their way to the master bedroom, his hold on Selene tightens just that little bit. She's quiet, watchful in her own way, but completely oblivious.

"Elsa, honey? Are you in bed?" he calls again, and this time he can't hold back the worry in his voice. This is too weird.

Tentatively, uncertainly, he reaches out his right arm to the bedroom door, held slightly ajar, and horrific images course through his mind that he is all too willing to ignore. There was nothing on his journey to here from the front door that would indicate anything bad had happened…but things _do_ happen.

And just as his fingertips touch the cold white painted wood of their bedroom doorway, he quickly pushes it open.

…and in the space of ten seconds, he wishes he had left it well enough alone as the fear courses through him, wondering what the hell is happening.

Her wardrobe is empty; every single t-shirt, pair of pants, dress and lingerie set is gone. The glass that holds her toothbrush and toothpaste, clearly visible in the open doorway to their ensuite bathroom is empty. Her nightstand is void of its contents, from her jewellery to her cell phone charger.

Even the book she bought last week, _The History of World War Two_ is gone.

He panics, understandably. His clothes are still neatly hung up in his side of the wardrobe, from his smart suit for special occasions to his identical navy blue hooded sweater and brown pants. His bedclothes are still strewn across the floor on his side of the bed, untouched. The _Avengers: Fear Itself_ hardback comic book that he has been reading is still haphazardly perched upon his nightstand. His possessions are there, hers are not.

Questions tear through his mind as Selene begins to whimper and cry, finally noticing the fear and the anguish that grips her father's face.

Did his wife leave him?

What did he do wrong?

Was this a practical joke? Because if it was, then it's definitely _not_ funny.

He tries what any sensible husband would do, and amidst the increasingly loud and unhappy cries of his daughter he slides his cell phone out from the single pocket of his sweater and quickly hits the speed-dial for his wife's phone and raises it to his ear, ready to unleash a barrage of questions as to what the _hell_ is going on.

Except, he can't. Voicemail.

He tries again. Same result.

Selene becomes increasingly frustrated now, her howls tearing at Jack's heart as he holds back tears, hoping for the best that this is all some bad dream, and as he tosses the phone onto the bed and gently bounces her in his arms, softly murmuring to her that it's all going to be okay, he notices a piece of paper on his pillow.

In that moment, he knows that he is lying to his daughter, because it's _not_ going to be okay.

Carefully, he lays Selene down onto the bed and sits beside her, stretching to his left so his fingertips can reach the paper, and upon achieving their goal he yanks it over and begins to read…and feels his world begin to fall apart.

 _Jack,_

 _I cannot do this anymore. When you read this, I will be long gone. It's for the best for you and Selene._

 _Please don't try to find me._

 _Forgive me._

 _Elsa._

The nausea transforms into a lump that threatens to suffocate him, and the tears that prick at his eyes try their damndest to slide down his cheek like a grieving waterfall.

She did leave him, and the worst part is he will never know why.

The trembling of the paper reflects his inner turmoil, a maelstrom of emotions from anger to deep sadness, from frantic confusion to dejected grief, and as Selene's cries become all the more needing and uncomprehending, it's all he can do to let the paper fall to the floor like a weighted corpse, gaze at his daughter with vacant eyes and pull himself along the bed to lay beside her tiny, frustrated form.

With arms as heavy as lead, he reaches across and pulls her towards him, burying his face in her child-like neck and with quiet, restrained sobs that impede his speech, he tells her in the most soothing voice he can muster the same lie once more.

"It's going to be okay, snowflake. Don't worry. It's going to be okay. Hush now, snowflake."

Her tearful cries tell him what he already knows, that it may never be okay.

* * *

 **A/N: I'll be surprised if anyone reads this, but if you do, thank you so much.**


	2. The Call

**A/N:**

 **Wow, I wasn't expecting that reaction. Such reviews. So favourites. Many follows. Wow.  
**

 **Also, this is NOT a sequel or spiritual sequel to Cold to the Touch. Totally separate. I've used the same name for their daughter in both fics because, quite frankly, it's easier for me to keep track of things.**

 **So, erm, onwards and upwards.**

 **"The Call"**

"She left us nine months ago, Emma."

Jack feels the prickles of guilt for speaking those words, not necessarily because of the context in which they thrive, but the crestfallen expression that adorns his sister's bright, rosy complexion. Even though they are on opposing sides of a computer screen (and indeed, the Atlantic), the magic of Skype shows every little detail of every facial expression that they wear. Jack's face wears a mask of resigned fact, whereas Emma's is almost inconsolable, framed by straight chocolate-brown hair and razor-sharp horizontal bangs across her forehead. Two years Jack's junior, she has only grown wiser but still wears her heart on her sleeve – especially where her brother and niece is concerned.

His sister has been backpacking around Europe for just under a year, having departed not long after Selene's birth so it's unsurprising to him that she would be out of the loop. Emma always liked obscure, out-of-the-way destinations more than the main cities, preferring the road less travelled. Naturally, internet coverage would be spotty at best, and let's face it…she was having too much fun. So he doesn't hold the fact that she knew absolutely _nothing_ about the split against her. In fact, it kind of breaks his heart that he has to be the one to apply the sledgehammer of truth – not just because it still hurts him, but her as well.

Currently she's in Wales, five hours ahead of him – meaning she's awake at three in the morning, which only adds to his guilt that he's about to drop all the bad news on her head during the hours no sane human should see.

"Oh my God…I am _so_ sorry! I didn't know!" she rambles apologetically, evidently fearing that she has firmly wedged her foot into her mouth, "Why? How? Please, tell me ever…wait, you don't have to tell me if you-"

Jack slumps back into the soft leather couch, its toughness diminished by age and serious use. Part of him doesn't want to expose her to how royally crap the first six months were, especially when he reached his lowest, but she has a right to know.

"No, it's okay Em. To be honest, I should've seen the signs that she wasn't happy…maybe I could've done something about it. Anyway, I came back from shopping with Selene to find that she'd taken all of her clothes and toiletries, her phone and its charger…basically everything you need if you're going someplace and you don't wanna be found."

"Why? Why would she do that? She loved you and Selene!" Emma protests, hoping that the words leaving Jack's lips and travelling across cyberspace are at best, a joke.

"Apparently not," Jack mutters a little bitterly, a frown erupting as he looks away in more than a little anger, "because she didn't even say why. Just a note saying that she's gone, it's the best for Selene and me, and not to follow her. Nothing else other than 'I can't do this anymore'."

Emma frowns in complete confusion as she rests her right temple against the palm of her right hand, and it doesn't take a police officer to work out that she's as bewildered by Elsa's sudden exit as much as Jack is…or was. Speaking of the law…

"That doesn't make any sense. Did you call the cops? What did they say?" she issues a double-whammy of rapidly fired questions, and Jack chuckles mirthlessly in response. Cynically, one might say.

"Yeah I did, and they were about as helpful as a chocolate fireguard. I called them about half an hour after Selene and I got back home, and told them what I knew… almost nothing. They just said that because there was no forced entry or signs of a struggle she must have left of her own choice, especially as she took her stuff with her. Therefore, they weren't going to be 'devoting any resources to finding someone who, quite clearly, didn't want to be found'."

"That's horsecrap. They should've at least done _something_!" she hisses.

"Oh, they did. One of them straight up asked me if I abused her, saying that 'people don't just walk away for kicks'." he says sarcastically – the memory of the implication still stings, though he can't help but chuckle when he sees Emma's usually ever-so-bright face darken in ill-concealed outrage.

"I want that cop's name and badge number, because when I get back, I'm going to tear them a new-"

As much as he likes the idea of watching his sister berate a police officer for the thoughtless remark, and as funny as it is to watch her cute little face fume in indignation, as far as he is concerned it's in the past – and the less revisiting there is of that particular situation, the better.

"Don't stress," he chuckles, waving a dismissive hand, "nothing came of it."

"But…"

" _Emma_."

The firm finality of his voice finally convinces her to end her tirade before it starts, especially when it's combined with the _'drop it'_ look in his cobalt-blue eyes. She rolls her eyes, flawlessly combining it with an exasperated shaking of her head, and once more leans forward to put her entire focus on her older brother's news. Three in the morning in the hostel where she is staying for the night – lucky for him, one that had wi-fi – and she looks exhausted but fulfilled, and completely and utterly awake.

"Fine," she sighs, her eyes closed with powerlessness and disappointed self-inaction, "what about Anna, how did she take it? Did she do anything?"

Jack's lips pull sideways in that wince one does when recalling a particularly uncomfortable memory, and a face wearing an expression of bewildered confusion, framed by twin strawberry blonde braids swims into his mind's eye, and he remembers that he wasn't the only one hurt that day.

"She didn't take it well. You know how they've always been close, right? Like, not even the end of the world could stop Elsa from spending time with her sister? Well, she was on her honeymoon when Elsa ran away…"

"Yeah, she said she always wanted to visit Dubai, right?"

"…yup, and that's where she went. First thing she did after flying Stateside was drop by our house, so imagine her surprise when she finds out Elsa's not there and I'm still freaking out. She asks me what the hell's going on, so I tell her – your sister left me and Selene, completely out of the blue. Of course, she didn't believe me, so I show her the note, and the half-empty bedroom. It was weird though, at first, because as soon as she finished reading the note it was like something clicked in her mind. I could see it in her face, you know, like one of those cop shows?"

"Heh, yeah. Same expression you had when you found out Elsa was pregnant; it was like all the signs that we women know all too well seemed to escape you."

"Thank you for reminding me of my inability to connect the dots, Emma," he growls tersely, "it doesn't hurt at all."

"Sorry," Emma winces, evidently realising that for all Jack's attempts to the contrary, his heart still stings, "forget I said that. What did she do?"

"She said that Elsa had been weird with her over the past six months, like, she wasn't as open as she usually was. Kept changing the subject whenever she was asked about Selene, you know, being evasive about things. Anna would ask her if she was okay, and she'd just give this strained smile and _I'm-fine-can-we-talk-about-something-else-please-look_."

"What about-" his sister starts, but he knows exactly what's on her mind, and the mirthless, hollow laugh that escapes his lips tells her all she needs to know.

"Her parents? Hah. First thing Anna did when I finished telling her everything was call her parents to find out if they knew anything…first question they ask? _'What did Jack do?'_ "

Emma goes through her second scowl of the night, and folds her arms defensively across her chest, achieving the effect of hiding the heroic design of Captain America that adorns the front of her pyjama T-shirt.

"That's horsecrap. You didn't do anything. I knew they didn't like you, but way to jump to conclusions, people."

"Yeah, well, they always felt Elsa married beneath her, didn't they? Like…she was supposed to be married to some big-shot lawyer or doctor or something but not me. But, you know, Elsa loves…loved me, and Anna likes me, so I didn't really care. Funny thing, though, when I look back on it – soon as she heard her parents say that, she launched into this massive rant about how their daughter has walked out on her sister, her husband and her daughter, that no-one knows why, and all they care about is some bullshit prejudicial preconception rather than what just happened. Hearing Agdar grasp for something to say was hilarious…well, it is now. Anyway, they didn't know a thing either."

"This is…" she begins, but finds herself unable to finish. The claws of fatigue are sinking themselves into her as equally as into him, and she's _five hours ahead_. It's only ten-thirty at night for him but it will be daylight for her soon, and Jack's guilt is only increasing as he knows she's only staying awake so she can be updated on everything. He knows he should end the conversation now so that she can get some sleep, especially as prior to the bombshell that started this whole conversation, she was enthusiastically giddy about the prospect of ascending Mount Snowdon tomorrow (or rather, later today).

"Em, you look wrecked. Why don't you get some sleep, we can talk more tomorrow?" he softly suggests, but his sister has none of it.

"No. I'm going to get a coffee, have an energy bar, and we're going to finish this. I've been out of the loop for too long. You are my brother, I love you, and I want to make sure you're okay. Be right back."

Her face disappears from the screen before he can protest further, and he's left looking at the slightly worn headboard of the bed in the hostel room she has been laying on while taking to him for the last hour or so. She's stubborn, an inherited trait from their mother Sarah, and it's caused more than a few arguments between her and her friends over the years.

His head involuntarily and tiredly flops back onto the couch, and for a moment he closes his eyes, allowing the memories of just how close _he_ came to losing Selene when he'd become trapped in a downward spiral, drowning in selfishness and self-hate, clueless questions and incomprehensible scenarios. She's asleep at Aster's house right now, and that's part of his penance, given that it's only been three months since he stopped his metaphorical runaway train of self-destruction.

 _Oh Elsa. How could you do this to us?_

A quiet clearing of the throat and a couple of sniffs firmly snaps his attention out of the drowsy session of introspection that his mind previously initiated, and as he blinks in mild disorientation he watches as the view of Emma's headboard rises a few inches while his little sister clambers back into bed, toting a mug of coffee with 'I HEART WALES' on the side, and a bar of something called Kendal Mint Cake (which is a mainstay of mountain climbing or walking supplies, apparently).

"So how have you been coping?" she asks while she fights with the wrapping of the mint cake, which looks surprisingly delicious. It's a question that Jack was hoping she wouldn't ask, not because his sister is judgmental or anything, or because it's a secret he was hoping to take to his grave. No, it's her _reaction_ he is afraid of…because what happened to him since Elsa left is something that both of them have seen before, and the consequences were disastrous. Emma can sense his hesitation, and in the starkly clear and sharply detailed image her eyes flick down to his mouth which, currently, is opening and closing like a goldfish.

"Spit it out." she persists, her voice muffled by the sweet confectionery, her eyes simultaneously hard, sympathetic and imploring.

"I screwed up, Emma. I did a Jonathan."

His words carry a weight to them, such a heavy weight that Emma briefly frowns with incomprehension, as though they were straight out of the _Cryptic Puzzle_ section of a newspaper…and when her eyes widen with realisation as to the meaning behind those words, and why he said 'Jonathan' and not 'Dad', her frown changes from one of confusion to one of urgently concerned reprimanding, an expression that is invariably preceded by the words…

"Shit, Jack. Why would you do that? You know what it did to our family!"

"I didn't mean to!" he snaps in protest, "it just…happened! I couldn't see a way out; I just…needed a way to numb the pain…"

He sighs, especially as he knows that the cat is out of the bag. Nothing left to do now but let his sister know exactly how deep he dug his hole of darkness and depression, and as he speaks his next words he prepares himself for the onslaught of reproach.

"Anna was distraught, and I didn't realise it then but she was feeling the same as I was, she was sharing my confusion and anger and stuff. She couldn't work out why Elsa would abandon us like that without a reason. Good, bad, hell it didn't matter what kind of reason it was, but there'd _be_ one, you know? Not silence."

"Anyway, Mom came round to see how I was doing. I was still kind of in a daze, you know? It still hadn't sunk in – I kept expecting Elsa to walk _right_ in the front door, like nothing ever happened. Mom asked how Selene was doing; I said she doesn't really know what's going on. She's too young. I kinda envied my little snowflake for that, heh."

"Kids are resilient." Emma observed, nodding sagely.

"Ayup. Well, the thing that Mom was worried about was our finances and how they were gonna be affecting Selene. See, I called Elsa's office a few days after she disappeared, and her boss told me she quit her job over the phone. Just like that, she gave him her notice, effective immediately. So, that was a hefty chunk of our monthly income gone. Poof."

Emma's frown deepens as she listens intently to what Jack has to say, and her prior tiredness has all but evaporated in the face of focused alertness or, more than likely, overtiredness.

"Mom helped me work it out. With her architect's pay check gone, all we had was my crappy commission salary as a web graphics designer and our savings, and the end result was that we were gonna run out. We'd have to sell the house, our cars, move to a cheaper place. Kinda drove home the point that she might not be coming back, you know?"

Jack's voice cracks even more now, and his words struggle to leave his lips as the lump in his throat becomes more and more pronounced, and he hopes to God that Emma can't see his eyes welling up.

"I mean…I'd been leaving the living room light on in case she came home so she knew we were still here for her, like a lighthouse. I'd been checking the windows whenever a car drove past, just in case that was her in a cab, coming home to me and Selene. So for Mom to basically say what was going to happen…it hurt. It hurt a lot. I was so scared, I was gonna lose the home we bought together, where we were gonna raise Selene, say goodbye to all of our neighbours…"

He averts his face from the screen so Emma can't see the single tear slip down from his left eye, and swallows thickly to try and force down the lump. He's done his crying, he's done with the tears…or so he thinks.

"So when night came, as soon as Selene was asleep, I did what Jonathan did." he says acidly and self-deprecatingly, the way one does when they are bitterly mocking themselves.

"You reached for the booze." Emma finishes for him; her voice is sharp but final, a vocal conclusion of inevitability and extrapolation. Jack's eyes whip back to his sister who wears a mask of…it isn't anger, or any kind of disdain. It's a face someone wears when you can see something coming a mile off and you know the pain that will ensue. Satisfied that he's not going to get _another_ earful, he nods.

"Yeah. My namesake. I couldn't sleep at night, so I'd have a little glass before I went to bed. It was okay for the first few days, but I just couldn't escape the memories, couldn't escape the reality of the situation I was in. She left me, left _us_ , and I just couldn't take it. So a single became a double, a glass became two glasses, before bedtime became afternoon…and before long, it became a bottle every day. I just…I couldn't face it. Every time I looked at Selene, I would see my wife, and that killed me. It was like looking at my own failure as a husband, who couldn't even get his wife to talk to him, couldn't even keep her happy enough to stay."

"How bad?" she asks, and that's all she needs to say.

"Bad. I didn't really know it myself, but according to Anna, Mom, Aster…pretty much anyone who came round, I had two modes: drunk, or asleep. I just…it was better to kill my liver than face the reality that my one true love, the mother of our beautiful child was _gone_. I mean, if she had died, I could've dealt with it because then I'd know _exactly_ why she wasn't with us…but I didn't. It was like my whole world had changed and no-one could tell me why."

"That was a stupid thing to do as a single father. You knew Selene needed you more than ever." Emma speaks flatly and uncompromisingly, and he knows she's right. Hindsight is both twenty-twenty and an absolute bitch.

"Yeah, well, I wasn't thinking straight at the time, was I? I was just drowning in this sea of despair and self-hate. I was perfectly happy to just stick her in her playpen and drink myself to oblivion, perfectly happy to use the money to buy booze instead of her clothing, to keep giving her formula instead of trying her with solid food. I rarely washed, I rarely changed…I'd just put her in the pen, stick the television on for noise, and pray that I'd get drunk quickly…I became our father…a horrible man and a worse parent. I neglected my own daughter, because I just ignored her needs and focused on my own desire to get wasted, to try and forget…hell, I even ruined her first birthday. Staggered around, swore a lot, argued with people…destroyed her cake…"

He sighs deeply and closes his eyes, letting the maelstrom of shame and self-reproach wash over him as he prepares the next volley of words, ones that he so _desperately_ hopes will not permanently colour his sister's opinions of him. They both view their father with disdain, so for him to follow the same alcohol-sodden path that Jonathan Frost did…

"That's why Aster and Tooth took Selene from me."

The lack of reaction tells him all he needs to know. There's no gasping, no sympathetic utterance of _"Oh Jack…"_ just…silence. He opens his eyes and glances at his sister, and her face is immovable…her eyes…that tells the story – disappointment.

"What happened?" she asks, her voice quiet and emotionless.

"I passed out on the couch about eight o'clock two nights later…I think. Drank too much as usual. I remember waking up at about four in the morning and noticed that the house was silent, I had kinda become used to Selene's playing, her cries…just knowing she was there. So I sat up to check the playpen, and she was _gone_. I started to freak out, wondering if someone had kidnapped her, or that she had left me just like Elsa did. That she got tired of this waste of space of a father and decided to make her own way. I remember calling her name, crying that she wasn't there anymore…and that's when I saw Aster sat on the armchair near the television."

"I remember shouting at him, asking why he was here and Selene wasn't. I remember yelling at him for 'breaking into our house and taking my daughter'. My best friend, and I was treating him like shit, and that's when he gave me one hell of a kick up the ass."

"What did he do?" Emma asks. Her voice is softer now, and it's a welcome change from the stony, impassive stance she embodied five minutes ago.

"It's not what he did, it's what he said…and I'll remember it until the day I die."

" _You are in no condition to look after her, mate. Look at you. You look like shit, you smell like shit, and you're perfectly happy to get yourself pissed rather than act like the father, like the human being she needs you to be."_

" _Yeah, Elsa left. Yeah, she probably ain't coming back, and even if she did, what would she see? Her husband…or the piss-poor drunken excuse for a man neglecting his daughter because he was too busy pining? She's gone, and you need to fucking accept it, mate."_

" _When Tooth and I walked in about eight hours ago, we saw you passed out on the couch with that bottle in your hand, and YOUR daughter in her playpen, wearing clothes that are far too bloody small for her and a diaper that was filled hours ago, screaming because she was hungry and she needed some damn attention."_

" _First thing my wife did? Pick up YOUR daughter and take her home, put some of Alexander's clothes on her, gave her some food, bathed her and settled her to sleep, and I've been waiting for your sorry ass to wake up ever since. That's how it's gonna be. Until Tooth and I feel that you are capable of looking after your own daughter, that you are over your wife, then Selene will be staying with us. You can drink yourself into an early grave and therefore deprive Selene of_ both _of her parents, or you can get off your arse, get clean and act like the father I_ know _you are."_

" _Your choice, mate. Make the right one."_

Emma's lips purse together in an imitation of a whistle, but what comes is an exhalation of breath that accentuates the wincing expression in her face. Sure, Aster's tirade was brutal and uncompromising, but it was _needed_. Oh God, how it was needed.

"That's…" she begins, but Jack holds up a hand to stop her.

"…completely and totally right. Aster was right about everything. I failed her as a person and as a father. The house was a bomb-site, the dishes were unwashed and piling up, I was wearing the same clothes for two weeks…I didn't deserve my beautiful daughter. I let myself wallow in my own misery, shouted at people for not understanding what I was going through, when someone did.

"Anna." Emma nods in complete comprehension.

"Yeah. I forgot that I wasn't the only person left behind. She was as much in the dark as I was, and I was too busy being miserable to be there for _her_. I think that's also why I hate myself for what I did, as well as the effect on Selene. Thankfully she had Kristoff to help but…it felt like I had no-one. I knew, though, I knew it had to stop. I wanted my daughter back, and I wanted the friendship I had with Anna back too, because my behaviour estranged us so much."

"What did you do?"

"I did exactly what Aster said. The day after, despite a raging hangover, I tidied up and cleaned the entire house. Seriously, it was a complete reversal of the shit-tip it was before. Everything was put away. My clothes were washed and cleaned. I pretty much went crazy on making our…my home look like a show-home."

"Then, I threw each and every bottle of Jack Daniels in the trash, even if some bottles were full. That stuff would never darken my doorstep again. I learned my lesson, becoming an alcoholic almost cost me everything and I knew I wasn't going to risk it again."

"Have you joined the AA?" she asks inquisitively, and her answer comes with a vigorous shaking of his head.

"Nope. I want to do it myself. I've got the leaflets and the numbers in case I start to drift back, but for now I want to go it alone. Selene's worth it and I want to show her what I will do to get her back. She's at Aster's right now actually…hopefully asleep. Though you can never tell when Alexander's concerned."

Emma smiles, and it's a warm and appreciative smile. It awakens a feeling of strength and support in Jack's heart, and he knows that his sister has got his back.

"I'm proud of you, big brother. Sure, you went too deep down the rabbit hole, and it nearly cost you everything but you realised your mistake. You found out what, or rather _who_ your priority was, and you're working toward reclaiming her. It sounds like you've got it all planned out."

Jack half smirks, and strokes the screen. The motion startles his sister a little, but she soon notices the symbolism and mimics him. For a moment, it's like she's actually with him in the room separated only by a small screen. It's a happy and contented moment shared by two loving siblings…but the salient question still remains, involving the person that set this whole shebang off in the first place.

"What about Elsa, what are you going to do?"

Jack's fingers slip down from the screen, and his eyes involuntarily drop down and to the left with introspective thought. It still hurts and it likely always will, but the pain is nowhere near as intense as it used to be. The ache is no longer sharp, having softened into something dull and ignorable. He knows he still misses his wife, but he can't afford to dwell on things that came before otherwise history will repeat itself.

The past is in the past, and it's probably _that_ which makes his next words surprisingly easy to speak.

"Way ahead of you. After I cleaned the house and tossed the booze, I packed away everything that would remind me of her. Photographs, that shepherd boy figurine…hell, even that weird abstract snowflake painting she liked. I hated that thing, but we bought it anyway. There's pretty much nothing in this house that indicates Elsa has ever been here."

Emma frowns almost painfully. It's a bit over-the-top, he will freely admit that, but in his mind it's all or nothing. Go big or go home. He can't afford the distraction, and though he can't bring himself to trash everything, packing away each and every item that reminds him of his wife and shoving the boxes in the attic serves the same purpose. If she ever comes back, they'll still be there…but for now, he has to work under the assumption that she won't.

"Even the wedding photographs?" his sister asks weakly, and though he shares the ache that Emma is undoubtedly nursing, he is resolute.

Professionally taken, the photographs were situated inside a two-foot rectangular frame – one was of him sat on a grassy hill overlooking a still lake, wearing a rather snazzy groom's suit while she sat just in front of him, her stunningly elegant white dress flowing before her while she leaned back into his chest and rested her head against his shoulders, her eyes closed in contentment.

The second was taken just outside the doors of the church, where only their heads and shoulders were visible, but their eyes shone with gratitude, comfort and love as they gazed happily into each other's eyes…and the third was taken seconds later, where they gave in to their desire and melted into a sweet tender kiss, with her hand gently caressing his cheek.

He remembers how a tear had escaped his moistened eyes as he traced a finger along the photograph, remembering the sheer joy of that day, the feeling that life could not get any better. He was married to his high school sweetheart, the woman who was his first kiss, first relationship and first love…

…the classic fairy-tale romance and the buoyant, confidence-boosting feeling that, of all the men in the world, she fell for and married _him._

Unfortunately, that had to go too. No exceptions.

"Those too. I loved her, Emma. I loved her with all my heart, and she's gone. I'm a single father now, and I have to act like it."

Emma sighs before reaching for her coffee and taking a deep swig, and then asks the question that is usually inevitable in this case…and one that is surprisingly not as painful to hear as he expected it to be.

"Have you thought about…?"

"Divorce? Maybe. It's only been nine months, and though there's always a chance she can come back…I'm not holding out for hope…so I guess you could say we're 'separated'. Mom went and got me the divorce petition papers just in case, saying that if I do want to get back in the field and find someone else, then I've got the option. I told her I'll be okay as a single man; Selene's the only girl for me. "

"Hey!" Emma jokingly protests, and the chuckle that escapes Jack's lips is both welcome and needed.

"Alright, as are you."

Quiet and subdued laughter is exchanged from both sides of the screen, mirth that slowly dwindles away as Jack notices how hard his heart is beating against his ribcage. He's told this to a few people, like Anna and his mother Sarah, but to recount the story to his sister is a whole other ball game.

"Do you think she'll come back?"

Jack exhales deeply through his nose as he considers the question, looking off to the left in thought, the light of the laptop screen illuminating and accentuating the tired lines under his eyes and the weary expression on his face.

"I don't know. I just…I feel I've spent enough time pining after her, you know? Wallowing in misery only brought more misery like some vicious cycle, and I'm done with that. Aster's looking at helping me find a job at the insurance company where he works, and Mom's helping me with the mortgage so _hopefully_ we can keep the house. Anna and I worked things out – meaning Kristoff no longer wants to hit me – so we're okay in that respect. I guess…I guess I don't really care if she does, you know? I've got a good thing going, I've got a mission to do and the reward is having my daughter in my arms again, in my house, living with me. I've got a chance to be a kick-ass single father, and I'm not gonna pass it up."

"Look," he says, holding up his left hand which Emma notices is completely void of a wedding ring, "there's your proof."

Emma grins, and she looks happy. She looks content and pleased that the conversation is ending on a high. That her brother is focused and driven, and knows what's best for him and his daughter, and that he realises that he does have a network of support, that even if his wife didn't love him, his friends and family still do.

That's all he needs right now.

"I'm really proud of you, big bro. Keep it up, you hear? Otherwise I'll be the one to kick your ass."

"Thanks, as always 'sis. You're ever the encouraging soul." Jack groans sarcastically, and his sister snickers mischievously in response.

"Damn right," she answers proudly, and then finishes her sentence with curiosity and warm hope, "when will Selene come back to you?"

"Well, it's been three months since she went to stay with Aster and Tooth, and he said he's going to give it a month or two to make sure I won't fall back into my old ways. So far, he says I'm doing great."

Emma bounces with glee in bed, breaking more laughter from her big brother as he watches the screen jiggle with her grinning excitement.

"Great! Awesome! I can't wait to see her again!"

"Neither can I," Jack mutters sagely, nodding in perfect sympathy, "neither can I."

"D'aww, my big softie. Anyway, I have no idea if I'm going to be able to climb Mount Snowdon tomorrow but I'm damn well gonna try, so I need my beauty sleep. Jack…I'm really sorry to hear about what happened, but I'm really happy you managed to pull yourself out of that alco-hole and worked out what was important in your life."

"Thanks, Emma. It means a lot. You get some sleep, okay? I want to see photographs when you come back. Oh, and bring back some of that mint cake stuff, I wanna try it."

"Oh, you'll get 'em," she laughs in between her words, "and after about the second or third memory card you'll probably want to die. Can't promise anything about the mint cake though, it's like…my addiction."

"Fair enough. Stay safe, you hear?" he says, half-warning and half-joking.

"You too, bro. Keep strong, keep the faith. You can do this!" she cheers, then hisses a quiet apology to anyone in the next room she may or may not have awoken as a result of her exuberance.

"Will do. Goodnight, Emma. Sleep well."

"Thanks. Same to you." she smiles, desperately trying to suppress a yawn that threatens to erupt from her rosy features and fill the screen as she clicks the button to end the call.

He stares at the screen for some time, not really registering any of the names or numbers that constitute his Skype contact list, merely nursing the feeling of strength and resolution that Emma's prior declaration had aroused within his heart, but also uncertainty.

What will he do if she _does_ come back? Will he welcome her with open arms, or thrust the divorce papers in her face? Will he forgive and forget everything that happened, including the damage he did, or will he consider it an impenetrable wall between him and the woman who was the love of his life? If he ever finds out why she left, will it be a good enough reason?

What would happen when Selene grows older, and she asks where her mommy is? What will he tell her?

He doesn't really know, he hasn't got the foggiest. He does know that he is thinking too far ahead, that the first step is making sure that his daughter is back in his arms, that he's got a stable job and that he can provide for her, and be there every step of the way…

…because that's all that matters in his mind. Not Elsa, not his marriage, just his relationship with his daughter.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **For clarification purposes, around the time of this conversation Selene is 15 months old.**

 **Erm...*hides* Love you all! Feel free to review, follow and favourite or simply read.**

 **Furiyan**


	3. The Reunion

" **The Reunion"**

… _three months later…_

"I don't think I've ever seen you so excited, Jackson." his mother Sarah declares with a smooth, easy-going voice and a mildly bemused smirk on her lips.

"That's because today's going to be a perfect day!" Jack explains cheerfully as he quickly wipes down the kitchen counter for the umpteenth time. Perfect day means perfect home, and to that end Emma and Sarah arrived not long ago to assist in the preparation for the special occasion. While Jack is busy waging a one-sided war on the kitchen, his mother is carefully arranging the WELCOME HOME banner draped along the living room ceiling, while Emma organises (plays with) the myriad baby toys on the floor.

See, three months after the Skype call to his sister, and things have been on the up-and-up.

For starters, he received a call at ten o'clock that morning from Southernisle Insurance, the company that Aster works for (and has no shortage of curse words to describe, from your stereotypical _cluster F-bomb_ to your _precision F-strike_ , and maybe a few Australia-specific terms that Jack still has yet to ask him about) informing him that his application was successful.

Never mind the phrase that's been used many a time to describe his floor manager Hans – _"he's got a few kangaroos loose in the top paddock",_ whatever that means.

Nonetheless, it's a great start to the day. Savings and ephemeral commissions from web design do not a stable salary make, so to hear that he's going to be a productive member of society is oddly terrifying, gratifying and a sign of things to come, all at once. He'll have a monthly income – aided by his mother, of course – with which to support him and his daughter. He has but one weekend of freedom before the grind officially starts the coming Monday, and he intends to make the most of it.

It just means that he'll have to endure the scowls and grumbles from his sixteen year-old self whenever he catches his reflection, be it on an impossibly clean kitchen counter, a mirror or even a plate. He's still not sure if his younger reflection is a hallucination, born of excessive use of the cleaning spray, though.

 _Who needs weed? Just clean your house. Heh, hello internal voice, how are you?_

"I still can't believe my big brother has actually _grown up…"_

"Hey!" he protests with offense, shooting his sister a mockingly hurt glare.

"…and became a responsible…" she continues unabashed. Hell, she's _enjoying this_.

"I'm warning you!" he growls, narrowed eyes and all.

"…adult!"

"Okay, that's it!" he cackles, and with the cleaning spray in one hand and the damp cloth in the other, and with his sister wearing an expression that dances between horror and mischievous mirth he chases her around the living room, intent on visiting upon her that which befell the kitchen sides.

"Aaah! No! Stop!" she yells, vaulting the couch, narrowly avoiding their mother on the step-ladders and positioning herself on the other side of the dinner table, moving one way while Jack moves the other just like kids do in a game of tag. Even though both of them look like adults, with Jack in a smart white shirt and black pants, and Emma wearing a floor-length brown skirt and frilly white blouse, they're still every inch the kids they used to be.

"What was it you said about Jack growing up?" Sarah observes with a sardonic smirk, completely unmoved by the antics around her as she loops a piece of paper with the letter H onto the long red ribbon. Evidently she's used to this and secretly she hopes it doesn't change…but being a single parent requires you to grow up _fast_ , and she knows that all too well.

Of course, they didn't come round just to annoy Jack (in Emma's case), or to assist in the not-a-lot of cleaning to do. At eleven thirty, Jack received another phone call which pretty much lit a fire under his ass and sent the excitement up to eleven – thank you, Spinal Tap – and shortly after ending the call with a grin that threatened to split his face in two, he called _them_ because…

…It's reunion day.

It happens as soon as Jack leaps onto and practically slides his butt across the kitchen table towards Emma, forcing her to squeal and bolt in the direction of her mother with the intention of hiding behind her that there's a rapid succession of knocks at the door…and due to being taken completely off guard, the fact that he's sliding across the table seems to hilariously slip his mind, and he falls to the floor with an unceremonious _thud_.

It's as though the moment is frozen in time; three pairs of eyes dart between each other in hopeful and wide-eyed realisation, and more than a little panic. Sarah hasn't finished her self-assigned task, so the banner reads WELCOME HO…hell of an impression to send.

"…could it be?" Emma gasps, her hand poised halfway towards her mouth.

Jack's blue eyes lock with his sister's, and there's a sort of unspoken understanding between them, a harkening back to the competitive streak they both possessed as kids – a race to see who would get to the door first and welcome the visitor into the old-yet-new home. Unfortunately, Emma has the clear advantage as Jack is still sprawled on the shiny and smooth white-tiled floor like a new born giraffe, so despite quickly scrambling to his feet in an uncanny impression of the aforementioned animal, his grinning sister manages to dart from the sanctity of her hiding place, rush over to the door and twist the handle to pull it open before Jack is even halfway upright.

Of course, the high pitched utters of each other's names tells Jack all he needs to know about who the visitors are – a joyful squeal of _"Emma!"_ is returned with an equally excited _"Anna!"_ , followed up by a louder and mockingly deep _"Kristoff!"_ …who promptly finishes off the gleeful exchange with _"Crazy person!"_

Classic Kristoff Bjorgman, always with the mild bewilderment.

Emma steps aside from the doorway to let the two visitors inside the house, taking the opportunity to embrace her sister-in-law with a squeezing hug and, as Kristoff sidles past the door, Jack sniggers to himself as he watches his sister release Anna, jump up and pull the taller Kristoff into one as well – he never expects it, so as per usual his initial expression is one of total surprise.

"Glad to see you could make it." Sarah smiles as she fingers her brown bob behind her ears, the flecks of grey showcasing age and experience, and returns her attention to looping the letter M over the red string.

"Oh boy, there's _no_ way we were gonna miss out on today!" Anna grins, her sapphire eyes tracing over each letter on the banner with an expression of warmth and delight.

"She's not wrong," Kristoff chuckles as he moves away from the door towards his wife and laces his fingers with hers, "you should have seen Anna's reaction when you called, Emma. It was like someone had jabbed her with a live electricity wire. Honestly, I was a little bit scared. Need any help with that, Mrs Overland?"

"Thank you for the offer, Kristoff, but I'll be fine…and I keep telling you to call me Sarah! By the way…aren't you going to say hello, Jack?"

With his hands in his pockets, Jack freezes for a moment in surprise as all heads turn towards him. He honestly didn't expect the arrival of his in-laws, figuring it would just be him, his sister, his mother, and the visitor they were all awaiting. On the other hand, it makes perfect sense – Anna is intrinsically tied to this reunion as much as anyone else, and though he was a little unprepared for them…he's actually glad they came.

"Huh? Oh…sorry. Hey, guys. I was just…you know…happy watching." he mutters, awkwardly scratching the back of his head.

"Ohoho, no. You don't get to escape the mighty Anna hug, no sir!" Anna smirks, a mock-threatening tone to her voice as she unlaces her fingers from Kristoff's hand and moves over to pull her brother-in-law into a warm hug, rubbing his spine in support. Jack smiles to himself as he feels the significance of the gesture in his heart along with her cotton sleeveless purple t-shirt under his fingertips – it's as though everything has been forgiven.

Sure, since the start of his recovery he's kept in touch with her, and they've hung out on a few occasions be it at each other's house or in the city, but there was always this tinge of awkwardness in the back of his mind, the hint of guilt that underlined any conversations they indulged themselves in.

He said some pretty awful things to her, way back when he enjoyed an unhealthy and self-destructive bromance with Jack Daniels – something he still battles with on occasion, and things that still plague him with guilt to this day. Wrapped up in confusion and regret, with a sprinkle of drunken despair, he took his verbal anger out on her as she was the closest thing to his absent wife, questioning what kind of sister she was if she didn't have answers, if she hadn't the slightest clue as to why Elsa left.

One stinging slap across the cheek and a threat of further violence from her burly husband later, and Jack nearly lost a treasured friendship with one sister as well as the relationship with his wife.

Naturally, one of the first things he did when he came to his senses was drive round to Anna's house, knock on the door and issue one of the most heartfelt apologies he had ever uttered in his life, placing the blame for the things he said firmly at his feet. Mercifully, Anna saw and always did see a kindred spirit in him, two people damaged by the same event, and forgave him…not without a warning that he would find himself _"singing soprano if you ever say things like that to me again"._

Kristoff still holds a grudge, of course, but Jack expects that won't change for a long time. He's fiercely protective of his wife.

"Bet you're excited, huh?" she asks somewhat rhetorically and pointlessly upon releasing him from the squeezing hug – which Jack is thankful for as he was starting to have difficulty breathing.

"You have no idea…" he says, in the way one does when there's a hopeful smile plastered on their face, and their heart is on their sleeve. Anna can see the hope and the emotion behind his eyes, and echoes his anticipation with a curl of her lips that crinkles her own sapphire orbs.

* * *

An hour later, and everything is pretty much ready – so Jack finds himself lost and adrift as far as tasks are concerned.

As she is apt to do, armed with her memory cards Emma takes advantage of the free time to commandeer Jack's laptop in order to regale Anna and Kristoff with tales of her exploits in each country – like the time she went for a hike across Derbyshire in England and decided to take a shortcut across a farmer's field…and was promptly chased off by a rather cantankerous goat.

Sarah, having seen the photographs three times over – giving her the ability to quote Emma word-for-word – was busying herself at the dining table with making more sandwiches and ensuring that the potato chips, vegetable sticks and other assorted party foods were present, ordered and correct…resisting the urge to steal a few Doritos for herself. That, and she's standing guard; Emma and Anna both share a weakness for chocolate to the point that the greying, motherly woman has to place the plate of chocolate cookies directly in front of her, and retain a plastic spatula close by in case any errant hands decided to indulge themselves in sweet, gooey goodness.

Of course, Anna being Anna, she somehow regularly cajoles Kristoff into testing Sarah's reflexes…and the red mark on his right hand is a hilariously stark reminder that she is still _way_ too fast for any of them – something Jack did warn them about prior to ascending the stairs, explaining that he knew from experience.

Needless to say, the second he reaches the upstairs hallway there's a loud _slap_ and a decidedly un-masculine yelp.

If he's honest, he could use a little quiet. The euphoria and constant chatter isn't wearing him down per se, but there are times when he'd prefer to be alone with his thoughts…and this is one of them. Of course, that used to precede a healthy lashing of Ol' Jack Daniels and a drunken haze, but he's a different person now.

What strikes him as he walks a few feet into the bedroom, the site of many restful nights, breathless sounds and one horrible revelation, is that he seems almost _comfortable_ with it…although it might just be a case of the pain waning into something that resembles a dull ache. He might just pull through this after all, learn to get over his wife and focus on the future.

Sarah told him once that time heals all wounds, and for the most part it's true…but it never hurts to have family and friends around. Though her absence still leaves a gaping wound, he's coping a lot better than he did. He can talk about Elsa now without feeling the lump in his throat or the wetness in his eyes, pricking like a leaky pipe fixed by a half-baked plumber. She isn't forgotten, not by any stretch of the imagination, and that feeling of acceptance sort of tallies with another piece of wise advice from the fountain of knowledge masquerading as Sarah Elizabeth Overland –

" _It's okay to remember her. Elsa will always have a place in your heart no matter what you do or how hard you try to forget her…I will always love your father before he became the alcoholic, and I will always remember him before he had a drink in his hand. Accept her absence, cherish the memories, and you will move on before you know it."_

Truer words were never spoken, but there's another feeling that simmers in his chest whenever he thinks of her, something that is definitely plausible but comes with the odd hint of guilt for even carrying the supposedly-yet-not alien emotion.

Anger.

Not as much for his sake, for what was done to him and the unanswered questions that have since given up on racing through his mind…but for Selene. Without any knowledge of why she left, Selene now faces the very real possibility of growing up without a mother, and the thought of that breaks Jack's heart into a thousand shards of seething glass. Sure, Jack can probably handle single-fatherhood himself, and it will be easier with the aid of his family and friends, but…the fact that their daughter _could_ be the reason she left is a bitter pill to swallow – because they have nothing else to go on.

A hundred conceivable answers for a singular question consisting of a solitary word, and that's one of them.

"Memory Lane is a dangerous road, y'know."

He's so deep in his introspective thought that even the low rumble of Kristoff's baritone voice startles the hell out of him, and the taller, bulkier man snickers to himself in dark amusement. The relationship between the two men is still a little strained; despite the acceptance of Jack's apology, Kristoff is a lot less forgiving than his better half is, and the white-haired father knows that it's probably going to take time and patience to recover the friendship they shared. He can't be blamed for it – had the situation been reversed with Anna leaving in place of Elsa, and Kristoff lost in the bottle, Jack would probably be the same if not more so.

However, the fact that the mousey-blonde is currently leaning on the doorframe with his arms folded, regarding Jack with an expression that dances between watchfulness and understanding, it's good enough for this moment.

"Yeah," Jack chuckles, "a road full of wolves and sirens, and maybe a few zombies. Probably some dragons. Yeah, definitely dragons."

"Wait, what? Actually, never mind. I don't want to know why there are dragons in your memories."

It's easy to tell that the two men are a little uncomfortable in each other's presence, given the history and the awkward silence that descends between them. Jack looks off to the left while he scratches the back of his head – textbook Overland manoeuvre, even Emma is guilty of that particular betrayal of body language – while Kristoff re-adjusts his feigned position of nonchalance against the doorframe, staring intently at a fixed spot on the cream carpet.

"So, why are you up here instead of downstairs?" the taller man finally asks, breaking the silence like a crack of thunder that pops the bubble of tension.

"I don't know. Taking stock, I guess." Jack shrugs, still keeping his eyes elsewhere.

"Of what?"

"Stuff."

"What kind of 'stuff'?" Kristoff persists, unwilling to accept such a pitiful explanation.

"You know…things."

It's at this point that his brother-in-law tires of the semblance of a conversation, and pushes himself off from the doorframe in an effort to leave the room. The movement catches Jack's eye, and he feels it's probably a good idea to let Kristoff know what's going on in his mind.

"I guess…being unprepared is sort of a running joke in my life. Coming home to find that note, I wasn't prepared for how it turned my life upside down in fifteen minutes. Waking up to see that Selene was gone and Aster was there to kick my ass…I wasn't prepared for that either. I just…"

Kristoff is listening intently to every word Jack speaks, whether it's out of interest or vigilance he doesn't know…but he finishes the sentence with laser-guided accuracy.

"You're taking the time to psyche yourself up for your life changing all over again."

Jack's eyes find Kristoff's searching hazel pools, and he nods in agreement. Silence descends once more between them, though it's not a haze of awkwardness and unspoken words, rather carefully constructed sentences and hidden truths – one of which, Kristoff brings to light with his customary smooth rumble.

"Anna was in tears after what you said to her that day. I mean, yelling at her that she's a shitty sister for not being psychic, not knowing what Elsa was thinking? You were out of line, dude."

His words cut deep, re-opening the still-healing guilt that hangs in Jack's heart whenever he's around them. The white-haired man closes his eyes in shameful regret, knowing that everything Kristoff currently speaks is unequivocal truth.

"Kristoff, I know…I'm sorry-"

"I'm not finished," the mousey blonde cuts him off with a hand, "not yet. When we got home, she was still crying. Far as she was concerned, she thought you were right, that she _was_ a shitty sister because she couldn't predict it, couldn't get Elsa to talk about what was going on. None of us could. Hell, I'm guilty of keeping things to myself, but she makes me look like an open book. So, yeah, I was ready to storm out of our house and beat the crap out of you for making _my_ wife feel the way she did."

Jack opens his mouth to issue yet more apologies, as he's not sure how much more of this he can take. Today is supposed to be a happy day, right? However, Kristoff sees the parting of his lips and holds up his hand once more to silence him.

"Still not finished. Anyway, Anna stops me at the door, tells me not to do anything. I ask her why, why shouldn't I go over there and make _you_ feel the way she does. She just takes my hand, rubs circles into my knuckles and says _'don't you see? He already feels like that. Don't punish him for being human, 'cause if it was me instead of Elsa? You would be freaking out' –_ and she was right."

Jack knows better than to open his mouth at this point, both due to the fact that Kristoff might punch him to shut him up, and that this is the most open that the burly man has ever been in his presence.

"I guess…what I'm trying to say is that you and me are good. We don't need to be all awkward around each other like I just caught you watching a romantic comedy or something, ya dig? For the record, though, if you talk like that to Anna again I _will_ beat the crap out of you."

Jack chuckles to himself, and for the first time since his lashing out, the tension has diffused to something approaching cordiality. It's a great feeling, something that can go on the Things That Made Today a Perfect Day list.

"Yeah, well, between you, Anna, my mom…evidently there will be a line…but thanks bro, it means a lot. Oh, and for the record: romantic comedies are awesome." Jack half smiles, and offers his outstretched hand to his brother-in-law.

"Yeah…sure. Whatever you say, dude." Kristoff smirks, rolling his eyes as he takes the offered hand and gives it a firm shake, before releasing it and sliding his own larger hands into his pockets.

Of course, as per usual in the environment of two grown men in a vaguely emotional situation, an awkward silence grows between them once more, where they find themselves at a loss for what to say to each other. However, the quiet is swiftly, brutally and _happily_ broken by the sound that Jack – and everyone else for that matter – has been waiting for.

Three knocks at the front door.

It's as though a bolt of lightning surges up Jack's spine and accelerates his heart to an unthinkable pace, and energises his brain like never before. With widened eyes, parted lips and a definitively audible gasp (incidentally, something mimicked by the taller brother-in-law), Jack's feet kick into overdrive and he charges out of the bedroom, practically knocking Kristoff against the doorframe in his haste.

There's no way in hell he's going to let Emma be the one to open the door this time. Not for this visitor.

He nearly falls down the stairs in his rush, excitement and nerves driving every step like an endless supply of anxious energy, and he almost doesn't notice how Emma is stood about eight feet away from the door – naturally, the video camera app on her phone is active, rolling and pointed right at him, committing his nervous and excited flailing to immortality – with Sarah and Anna directly opposite her. All three of them wearing smiles of proud anticipation, as if to silently utter _'go ahead, this is the moment you've been waiting for'._

It hits him for a few seconds that it _is_ that moment; everything he has worked for is coming to fruition and he's about to reap the rewards of his efforts: part of his heart is coming home. His lips are dry and his breaths are rapid, and his chest feels like someone's going to town on a double kick pedal drum.

"Well, go on then!" Sarah whispers, and her son realises that he kind of froze in time with the silent revelation, and the people on the other side of the door are still waiting. Numbly and slowly, he nods in understanding at his mother and takes the first of several steps to the front door, Emma's camera watching his every move. Vaguely aware of Kristoff's heavy footsteps behind him, he moves to within grasping distance of the door handle…and as he laces his fingers around the cool brass of the mechanism, he licks his dry lips, takes a deep and galvanising breath through his nose and out of his mouth…and pulls open the door.

"G'day mate."

With a wide grin Aster stands before him, dressed in a light blue short-sleeved smart shirt with a loose-fitting neck-tie and grey denim pants, his blue-black hair a feature inherited by the small child in his arms – twenty month old Alexander Bunnymund, dressed in identical clothing to his father.

Wearing a smile that could accurately be defined as blinding – she really does like to take care of her mouth – Tooth stands just to Aster's left. She's definitely not as conservative as her husband, with electric blue hair and an ostentatiously vibrant green and yellow tie-dye floor-length dress…and in _her_ arms?

"Da-da?"

Selene.

With shimmering platinum-blonde hair drawn into two tiny and _freaking adorable_ pigtails, ice-blue eyes that stare at him in recognition and wonder, chewable milky cheeks that seem to be in the process of pulling back into a cute smile, wearing a spring-green pinafore with little pink flowers in the cotton fabric, his daughter sees and _knows_ him. During his recovery, he could only visit once or twice a week – luckily he managed to be there for her first word and first steps…well, one-step-two-step-fall, but a few hours ago he was so worried she wouldn't recognise him.

She's here, less than three feet away from her father. No words come to his mind or his mouth, though, but the pricking in his eyes is telling. He's sure as hell not going to cry in front of Kristoff or Aster – no way – so he tries to hold them back with a thick swallow.

The little needing hands reach out towards him and Tooth has to adjust the weight on her right hip to compensate, but as Jack involuntarily and automatically extends his arms towards her, Aster holds up his hand to veto the movement. Surprised, the white-haired man shoots his friend an uncomprehending look…something that the slightly taller Australian returns with a knowing smirk and a wiggle of the eyebrows.

"Do yourself a favour, mate. Back up a few feet, would ya?"

Jack's eyes snap over to Tooth's, and she issues him an agreeing nod and a _wait-and-see_ expression on her face…so, though he admittedly doesn't understand the significance just yet, he backpedals a short distance away from the front door, hoping to God that it's not some cruel trick, that this whole day has been a mirage.

"Bit more. Trust me, you're gonna love this." Aster persists, his free hand making that _'shoo'_ gesture to reinforce the point, and Jack almost reluctantly acquiesces with a few more steps backwards.

It's then that Tooth bends down and places Selene on the floor – who, incidentally, still has her arms outstretched towards her father – and something happens that takes his breath away.

Little by little, step by step, Selene waddles towards him with intent and purpose, her short legs working furiously towards her goal. Finally understanding Aster's meaning, Jack crouches to the floor and holds his arms wide open, an encouraging and happy grin on his face as the little eighteen month old continues her perilous journey towards him.

Murmurs of _"come on, you can do it, that's it…"_ escape Jack's lips as she reaches the halfway point, and there's a moment where she stumbles slightly to the right that the entire room gasps, breaths held everywhere. Persistently and stubbornly Selene plods on, her infant mind unwilling to admit defeat by submitting to gravity's influence.

Every second feels like an eternity, every urging word an encouragement, and with a last-dash burst of speed amidst cheers and claps, she practically falls into her father's arms – and he instinctively sweeps her against his chest and nuzzles her right shoulder, feeling the heat from her little body under his supporting hands.

He looks up at Aster and Tooth; the former nodding in pride while the latter bounces up and down in glee – oddly, Alexander looks completely oblivious to the momentous effort his friend has made – and mouths the sincerest _"thank you"_ behind a veil of liquid in his eyes. Turning his attention back to his daughter, he strokes the back of her head and as he whispers something that only she can hear, he reckons it might be okay to cry.

"It's just you and me now, kiddo. Just you and me."

* * *

Despite sharing the bewilderment of his countrymen that along with boomerangs, koalas and _Neighbours_ the most common concept associated with Australia is the barbecue, Aster is not above playing to the stereotype on occasion – especially when a celebration is involved.

So, naturally, he brought one with him, and is currently tending to the grill-related ministrations as the sun starts to set around them, bathing the front yard in a warm and healthy amber glow.

"So, let me get this straight. The bowler pitches-"

"Bowls." Aster corrects Kristoff with a merciless interruption, not even looking up as he turns over the seven burgers on the barbecue grill, the sizzle of the meat a mouth-watering sound.

Sat cross-legged on the grass, building towers of multi-coloured building blocks with Selene, Jack quietly sniggers to himself as he overhears Aster's second attempt to explain the concept of cricket to Kristoff, and why it's _not_ boring to play. Far as the mousey-blonde is concerned, it's ice-hockey or bust…and the Australian sounds about ready to pinch him on the nose with the burning-hot tongs.

"Sorry. 'Bowls' the ball at the…wicket, and the, uh, batsman - is that right? He hits it as hard as he can."

"Eh, you're nearly there."

"Right, okay. Sounds like baseball. Anyway, if the hit is good, the batter runs backward and forward between the wickets to score points, but if he's caught out when the fielders throw…you know what? This is why I prefer ice hockey. It's a good sport."

"Mate, you wouldn't know a good sport if it hit you in the face." Aster drawls challengingly, with half a smirk on his lips.

"I _was_ hit in the face when I first played it. That's how I know it's a good sport." Kristoff retorts teasingly, lightly elbowing the quietly grumbling Australian in the arm.

"Keep it up ice-boy and you won't be getting any burgers."

Sniggering in part due to the repartee between the two barbecue sentinels, and due to Selene's ruthless demolition of the precarious tower of blocks, Jack angles his head up and decides to add fuel to the fire.

"Hey, Kristoff? Ask Aster why they don't wear any armour in rugby."

The Australian's unblinking gaze snaps from the grilling meat right at Jack, and with a scowl of irritation he points the tongs threateningly at the darkly chuckling man.

"You can stuff it too, you bloody show pony, or you'll be eating salad with Kristoff!"

Jack hides another set of snickers behind his hand, earning a mildly puzzled look from his daughter and a reprimanding _whap_ on the back of his head…and knows exactly who the instigator of the light violence was. After all, it's not the first time that part of his skull has been contacted by his mother as a light chide.

"You really shouldn't antagonise him, you know. It was very nice of him to bring the barbecue around." Sarah chastises him with teasing amusement as she kneels down by his side.

"I suppose, even if it does mean that no-one has touched those sandwiches you made." Jack reminds her, but all he gets is a shrug of indifference from the greying woman as she lightly tickles her granddaughter.

"I'm old and wise enough to know that sometimes, there's nothing better than a good barbecue, Jack. Besides, you can have those sandwiches tomorrow."

He utters a mild and noncommittal hum as he flops back onto his hands, watching as Selene awkwardly rises to her unsteady feet and tootles a yard or two away towards Alexander who, sat between the chatting forms of Anna and Tooth, appears to be having _great_ fun trying to work out why a ball is spherical in nature. Between the antics of the two pintsized children, and the simmering 'discussion' between Kristoff and Aster, nobody notices the yellow taxi-cab that's parked on the other side of the road and has been there for at least half an hour.

"How are you?"

The question is a little out of the blue, but it is nonetheless welcome. He's been dying for someone to ask him how he is, not out of narcissism or conceit but because he just wants to share.

"Me? I'm great. Really great. Kristoff and I made up earlier on, and I've got Selene back…and for the first time in months, I get to have her in my house instead of having to drop by Aster's. I start my new job on Monday…which reminds me…"

"Don't worry, Jack. Emma and I will look after Selene while you're at work. It would be a pleasure." his mother soothes, and he can't help but drape his left arm around her shoulders and pull her into a pseudo-hug.

"Thanks, mom."

"May I ask you another question?" she enquires, chuckling as they watch Selene appropriate the ball from a rather disgruntled Alexander and bounce it once on the grassy ground, her face shining with an expression of _holy-crap-best-thing-ever_.

"You just did." he drawls with a little sarcasm, earning another light whap on his skull.

"Don't be pedantic, young man. I still have that photo of when you fell asleep in your high chair with your face in your spaghetti Bolognese."

Jack winces something fierce, and her threat effortlessly shuts him up. So far, none of his friends know about that particular picture, and he'd rather die before letting Aster see it.

"Sorry! Sorry. Go ahead." he says apologetically, holding up his hands in defeat.

"What would you do if, right this minute, Elsa came back?"

Casting a glance at the back of the cab which pulls out from the other side of the road and makes its way to who-knows-where, he doesn't respond at first, and he's not sure why. Maybe he's choosing his answer, or he's delving into the sea of introspection for clues. If he's honest, it's a question he was hoping to avoid as it brings dull ache to his heart and tempers the smile on his lips to a frown of uncertainty. Would he be angry? Would be he overjoyed? What would Anna do? Yet, even though there is a veritable wealth of debate material in his mind, and educated guesses in his heart, the short answer is:

"I really don't know."

There's a strange sensation of apathy that creeps into his chest at his words. As far as he's concerned, it's the truth. He has no idea how he'd react, what he'd say, whether he'd welcome her with open arms or tell her to stay out of his life. The thing is, on some level…he's not sure he cares.

After all, he has his daughter back.

* * *

"You know, the meter is still running while you're playing voyeur."

The terse remark from the cab driver is once again ignored by the platinum blonde sat in the back, her eyes and her mind firmly fixed upon the celebratory gathering outside the house. In fact, the vast majority of the world phases out of existence in Elsa's mind as she watches the happy occasion unfold.

Yesterday it seemed like such an easy task. Fly back home from the West Coast, catch a cab back to the house, knock on the door and hope for the best. Apologise profusely for her disappearance, explain what she could and hope against hope that he would find it in his heart to forgive her. Pray that her sister would understand why, that she could rebuild the sibling bond she most likely destroyed.

As she watches Jack play with their daughter, it's like two parts of her heart are just over there, within arm's reach, happily enjoying the time they have together. It brings a small smile to her face and a welcome flicker of warmth to the beating muscle in her chest, knowing that two of the many people she loves most in this world seem to be happy and content.

But as she sits in the back of the cab, feeling a solitary tear escape her left eye as the lump in her throat grows ever larger, and as the sharp and relentless ache pulses in her chest and paralyses her lungs, she feels the familiar fear creep into every inch of her. The feeling that churns her stomach and causes a ruthless wringing of her fingers, that keeps her feet rooted to the floor of the vehicle rather than lets them step outside…which is what her heart is _screaming_ at her to do.

Fear is crippling, it can either root you to the spot…or it can command you to run.

Observing the celebration, the fear only grows as she is overcome with the worry that she isn't needed any more, that the smiles and laughter of her husband, sister, mother-in-law and everyone else that attends all indicate that she has been forgotten.

Maybe she should be, she wonders. Maybe the damage she caused is irreparable, and there's nothing she can do to change that, to mend the bonds that were broken…and the guilt only grows. It's a never-ending cycle that only strengthens the fear inside her chest and deepens the dark hole she is trapped in…and in a fleeting sensation of cynical self-loathing; she figures she'd only run away.

As she watches Jack and his mother engage in quiet conversation, she tries to hold back her sobbing with a thick swallow, hating the fact that all she needs to do is pay the driver, step out of the car…and just say hello.

Everything after that…it wouldn't matter, because she would have taken the leap of faith…

…but her fear won't let her, and as it creeps into her mind and destroys any hope she had of reconciliation, it repeats the same words over and over again.

 _Run._

 _They don't need you anymore._

 _You're just a distant memory, a source of hurt that you will never heal._

 _He probably doesn't love you anymore, neither does your sister, and your daughter doesn't even know you. You. Are. Not. Worthy._

Whether the horrible words are true or not, she doesn't know…but itt's a horrible sensation of low self-confidence and right now…the task is insurmountable. So she decides what she's going to do.

"They're better off without me…" she whispers to herself.

She'll run, just like she did before.

"Take me back to the airport, please."

Maybe one day, she'll find the strength to return. Maybe one day…

…she'll come home.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Sorry it took a while. There's a dent in the wall where I kept banging my head against it, trying to evoke some inspiration - and this particular chapter went through three rewrites before I was happy with it.**

 **Thank you to each and every one of you that reviewed, followed and favourited this. I'm still surprised that it has the reviews it does.**

 **I...don't know when the next chapter will be up, but I will endeavour to have it uploaded as soon as I can. Selene will be six years old...and that's about as much as I can say without spoiling anything. Don't hate me too much, things will get better, I promise.**


	4. The First Day

**A/N: Quick reiteration of Selene's age of six years in this chapter.**

" **The First Day"**

"Daddy! Daddy! Wake up! It's the first day of school!"

Of course it's not going to be an easy morning for Jack; none of the rousing guitar riffs and energetic drum beats that constitute _Sabotage_ by Beastie Boys resounding from his phone…also known as his six o'clock alarm on its highest volume - nothing but the loudest and fastest to get his heavy sleeping ass out of bed.

With his right arm dangling off the mattress and his other sprawled out in the empty space to his left, his face firmly planted into the pillow (mouth oh-so-attractively wide open like a human fly-trap, naturally), and dressed in his usual hibernation attire of black pyjama pants and a well-used grey t-shirt, he looks the picture of someone enjoying the last five minutes of gloriously fluffy sleep before _"Can't stand it, I know you planned it!"_ rouses him from his slumber into the concept that the rest of humanity calls a working day. Five minutes of beautiful sleep, and does he get it?

Nope, his alarm clock comes in the form of his three-and-a-half foot, platinum haired ball of energy masquerading as his daughter racing into his room and jumping on his bed, full of the joys of spring and the equivalent power of a fully-operational nuclear reactor. A few years ago it would have made him jump out of his skin, but he's pretty much used to it by now – especially when it's an important day like his birthday, _her_ birthday, Christmas…

…first day in first grade…

"Five more minutes, kiddo…" he groggily mumbles into the fabric of his pillow, trying to hold onto every last bit of sleep that he can.

"No! You have to get up now! I don't want to be late!" she persists, and just for good measure subjects him to a horrendous set of bounces on the mattress.

He tries to ignore it, but it's no use. Selene's vocal assault coupled with the abrupt rise and fall of his head on the pillow every time she jumps forces his brain and body to concede defeat to the little terror, telling him there's no chance of extra sleep. Pushing himself from the mattress, he wipes a hand across his bleary face and checks the clock on his phone. Five fifty-five.

"You know…your first class doesn't start for two hours…" he groans, and twists round to shoot her a look of disbelief through squinted, unfocused eyes. He may be a heavy sleeper, but a freshly woken Jack is _not_ pretty.

"Yeah," she says, meeting his gaze with her big ice-blue eyes as she smirks, "but you have to go to work too, Daddy."

Jack flops back onto his pillow and covers his face with his hands in groaning dread – his precocious little monkey is right. Another day of clocking in to a dead-end job, with sales targets to be met, costs to be saved and random people to be sweet-talked.

"Thanks for reminding me, snowflake...but you're right. Daddy should get up." he concedes, and pulls himself up so his back rests against the headboard – and Selene promptly scurries over to sit on his lap and rest her head on his chest. He kisses her scalp, trying to ignore the ticklish sensation on his nose – though she inherited her mother's stunning platinum shimmer, she also was the unwilling recipient of Jack's messy morning-hair genes, and it's no more evident in how it's frizzy, wavy, and all over the place.

"Daddy?" she asks, snuggled up against his chest.

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"Can I have the braids today, just like Aunty Anna?"

Jack smiles internally at her question. His sister-in-law has taken great pains to be as much a part of her niece's life as she can. While she knows that she can't change what happened, it doesn't stop her from attempting to be a positive female influence in Selene's life and a biological tie to her mother's side of the family – and the six year old has ostensibly picked up a few traits from her aunt, the signature twin-braids being one of them.

Anna once suggested a single braid, but Selene would have none of it – _"no, Aunty Anna, I want braids like you!_ "

"Sure, I'll do them for you when you get dressed."

"Cool! Can I have fruit loops for breakfast too?"

"Are you sure? I was going to do pancakes and blueberries."

"OH! Can I have pancakes, blueberries _and_ fruit loops?"

Jack chuckles to himself. There's no way she can fit all that into her stomach...but one of the traits she picked up from her aunt Emma was stubbornness. If she wants to have pancakes, blueberries and fruit loops, she's damn well going to try.

"Yeah, okay. It's your first day. Now go on and get ready, kiddo. Daddy needs to go and shower." he says, patting her back to force the point.

"You do, Daddy. You stink!" she giggles as she pries herself off his chest, shuffles off his lap and, cackling adorably, scampers out of the bedroom amidst a dropped jaw of feigned shock from her father.

"Yeah, you better run!" he calls after her. Shaking his head in amusement, he slides himself gingerly out of bed…and as he starts to spread his arms for possibly one of the most epic and needed stretches in existence…

"… _I can't stand it, I know you planned it! I'ma set it straight, this Watergate…"_

"Well, _you_ were useful…" he narrows his eyes and mutters sarcastically at the alarm resounding from his phone, a painful reminder of the elusive last five minutes of happy dreaming before mind-numbing work.

* * *

An hour before show time and the mood in Casa Del Frost is decidedly frantic.

Well, for Selene at least.

Casually leaning on the kitchen counter, with his second cup of morning _wake-the-fuck-up_ in his right hand, Jack chuckles loudly to himself as he observes his daughter race around the house like a headless chicken, completely freaking out.

See, breakfast was a relatively calm affair. She did indeed devour her pancakes along with her bowl of cereal – leaving the white-haired father with the distinct impression that she was powered by a miniature singularity – and the conversation held in between mouthfuls of food had largely been about how much she is looking forward to her first day at Arendelle Elementary, how she hopes that Alexander will be in her classes, and that she knows exactly what she's going to be wearing – her Captain Marvel T-shirt, denim pants and black sneakers, and wondering if her new teacher is going to like her twin braids.

Six years old and she already displays organisational skills rivalling that of most adults including her father – on the other hand, it doesn't surprise Jack in the slightest; Selene is fifty percent Elsa, after all. Organisation and order was her forte, while Jack used to exist in a state of controlled chaos. Two polar opposites that melded together to form an unstoppable whole…or so he thought.

However, all hell broke loose when he asked what pen she was going to bring to school, and the answer: her favourite Dora the Explorer pen….

…but the pen is missing…

…hence the unmitigated panic.

Jack knows exactly where it is, because it's where Selene always leaves it – inside her Dora the Explorer pencil case which sits happily inside her Dora the Explorer arts-and-crafts box in her room, but when nerves are high and panic is the order of the day, common sense tends to go flying out of the window at a similar speed with which Selene is overturning cushions on the sofa and scrambling under the dinner table.

"Daddy! What are you doing standing there!? Don't you know we are at DEFCON one and a half!? This is a code red, missing pen emergency!" she squeals as she rushes upstairs with rapid thuds.

Of course, Daddy is the island of calm in a sea of chaos for one reason and one reason only – he already went through a melancholic freak-out last night, and he's trying to drag the hilarious scene out for as long as possible.

Why? Aside from the fact that watching his daughter panic is actually quite adorable, he knows that as soon as she finds her pen, she'll calm down, and be ready to go to school…

…and soon she won't be his little girl any more.

It's the same realisation that hit him last night as he prepared sandwiches for her packed lunch, and it was potent enough to force him to lean against the dining table while he slowly came to terms with how fast his little girl is growing up. Today is first grade, then it'll be second grade in a year's time, then third…and before he knows it she'll be a teenager, a woman in her own right that attacks the school curriculum with all the determination and vigour that her mother did. She will have grown up, spread her wings and found her own way – and he'll be there every step of the way just like he was before, barring that awful few months when she was apart from him.

It's the sensation that a parent feels when they come face-to-face with the ephemeral aspect of the moment, the knowledge that no matter what they do, their children will age and grow and eventually leave, and it's a melancholy feeling that still sits in his stomach today.

Of course, he's proud of Selene – beyond proud, even. She is a precocious, intelligent, daring little soul that embodies the yearning for mental stimulation, focus and beauty of her mother (which still pricks at his heart to this day) and the energy, cheekiness and prankster qualities of her father – though, as the years went by he lost most of those aspects. He's just scared of how fast she is growing, and that soon she'll be off in college pursuing her desire to change the world…and he'll be all alone, clocking into a dead end job and existing.

She is his raison d'etre, and the idea that soon she won't need him anymore and will be following her own path scares the shit out of him – but that's the nature of life and youth. Eventually, all children find their wings and fly, and she will be no different. He can't stop it; he can only be there for her.

Swallowing down a lump in his throat with one final mouthful of coffee, he yells up the stairs – "Have you checked your art box?"

"Found it!" she victoriously and happily shouts back down, "it was in my art box!"

Shaking his head in amusement, he chuckles to himself as he places the empty coffee cup in the sink – there's no clink of a wedding band against the ceramic, and that hasn't been the case for over four years – and knows that moments like this are what makes single parenting worthwhile. Sure, it's hard and tough, there's tears and blood and sweat, but there's joy and laughter, smiles and cheers, and they're all his.

So, while being a parent may be the toughest job in the world (especially when you have to play mommy _and_ daddy), it's also the most rewarding. Whatever it is she needs to know, he'll be there to tell her.

Well…except _that-time-of-the-month_ and _the-birds-and-the-bees_ from a female perspective.

Emma can deal with _that_.

* * *

"I can't believe you put a whoopee cushion on my seat." Jack groans as he slides the offending rubber from under his ass, having paid the price for his lack of vigilance when sliding into the car.

Yep, total prankster. She doesn't do it often, so when Selene _does_ indulge her genetic need for mischief it's always a surprise and he's _always_ unprepared – she put Jell-O in his work shoes one time, and another occasion involved a morning cup of coffee and chilli powder.

His – or her – particular favourite was the knowledge of what happens after visiting Taco Bell, and hiding all of the toilet paper in the house when the time came to spend an eternity in the bathroom. Of course, Aster was never pranked like that by Alexander, no sir. He had an ample supply of the stuff, but Selene Frost?

Merciless.

Adorable sniggers escape her little lips as her entire face crinkles in mirth, her hand covering her mouth as she says "You snooze, you lose, Daddy!"

"I'll get you back, one day." he twists to the right with one hand on the steering wheel, shooting her a threatening look.

"I doubt it."

"Oh? Why is that?"

"You haven't pranked anyone in years, Daddy. I heard Uncle Aster saying that he stopped worrying about traps when he goes to work." she says astutely, and it kind of hits him in the face that she is one-hundred-percent correct. He's given so much to this single parenting malarkey that everything that made him who he was has taken a back seat – he can't even remember the last time he pranked Aster.

"You're right," he nods in serious agreement, "I think I'm going to do something about that."

"Awesome! What will you do?" she asks, her face brightening at the prospect of vicarious mischief.

"Well," he says as he turns the key, shifts the stick into R and slowly backs out of the driveway, "it's going to involve a klaxon, Uncle Aster's chair, and masking tape."

* * *

The drive to Arendelle Elementary is over in less than half an hour, and most of that was spent singing along to whatever song happened to be on the radio (or in Jack's case, singing the lyrics to D Piddy's _Nerdy Stuff_ as opposed to Taylor Swift's _Shake It Off_ , earning a few puzzled looks and reprimands of _"that's not how it goes, Daddy!"_ ), and though the sensation of time slipping through his fingers is still present as it was in the kitchen, the mood is otherwise buoyant – though he noticed shortly before they found a space in the middle of the parking lot that she really liked Shakira's _Can't Remember to Forget You,_ and he promptly made a mental note to not let her see the accompanying video until she's much, _much_ older.

Selene's growing up fast, but not _that_ fast.

As he opens the door for her to slide out, his mind automatically takes stock of the scene to commit it to his memory – first days of school only happen once each time, and he wants to remember the moment that she took the first steps on the path to higher education. Arendelle Elementary is a robust but pretty looking school, with red brickwork constituting the outer body, crimson double doors that lead into the building itself, chain link fences that cut the site off from the rest of the city as a form of protection for the children inside, healthy green grass and well-tended trees that flank either side of the path leading to the main doors, and the ever present flag of the US flies proudly at full mast eight feet to the left of that path.

It looks different to when he studied there all those years ago, but after two decades he's not exactly surprised at the change – but it was (and still is) a good school, so when Aster said he put in an application for Alexander, it seemed to be a logical choice.

With his hand patiently resting upon the car door frame, his eyes flick down from the legions of couples, single mothers and children all slowly moving to the main entrance with cheers, laughter and squeals filling the air, and notices his daughter stood watching the crowd with nervous eyes, an expression of childlike uncertainty upon her dainty features, and her Captain Marvel T-shirt crinkled under her left arm as she strokes her right upper arm with her left hand in anxiety – classic Elsa Frost.

For someone who, up until now, was full of the joys of spring and excitement and singing along to Shakira, the change is startling.

"What's up, kiddo?" he asks, frowning in puzzlement.

"Daddy, I'm scared."

"Why?"

"What if the other kids don't like me? What if Alexander's not in my classes? What if…" she rambles, and Jack knows he has to calm her down before she bursts into tears and gets herself into a state. Selene's a tough kid; she's been through a lot, so when she cries it's something that breaks his heart every time.

"Hey! Hey, hey, hey," he mutters quietly and calmly, wearing an expression of kindness as he kneels down so she doesn't need to look up, "you are Selene Frost; the other kids are gonna _love_ you. I don't know for sure if Alexander will be the same class as you, but you'll always see him in recess! Don't you worry, snowflake. It's all good."

He smiles warmly and kindly at her as she turns her gaze towards him, her ice-blue eyes shimmering with worried tears, and after about a second she surges forward and throws her arms around him, burying her face in his neck.

"Okay, Daddy." he feels the words murmured into his shirt, and hopes that what he said is – for the moment – enough.

"There, you see? Nothing to be afraid of. Want me to carry you in, or?"

"It's okay. I can walk." she sniffs as she pulls away and re-adjusts the Sofia the First backpack on her shoulders. Jack chuckles as he rises to his feet and shuts the passenger door, and with hands held together they carefully navigate the huge (and nearly full) parking lot, and melt into the horde of souls seeking entrance into the school.

The inside of the building hasn't changed as much as the outside – the walls are still apple green on the lower half and sky blue on the upper, with a white border cleaving the two bright colours apart with perfect straightness. Adorned along the corridors are displays of various pictures that the schoolchildren have painted, or photographs and scribbles of field trips, and the usual accoutrements that constitute an elementary school's artistic and literary curriculum. With Selene's little hand tightly gripping his right as they navigate their way through the myriad adults and children in front of him all seeking their own destinations, his eyes fall upon a familiar woman knelt outside one of the classrooms three doors away, trying desperately to control and guide her ever-energetic black-haired son from racing into people's legs in his excitement.

"Hey, snowflake," he says as he kneels down beside her and points to the young boy, "there's Alexander. Why don't you go say hi?"

Her face lights up and she charges off like a bullet from a gun, her backpack jiggling hilariously with each step, and Alexander barely notices before she almost tackles him off the ground with a hug.

"Yay, Alexander!"  
"Yay, Selene!"

Two names and one cheer repeated over and over again, with linked arms and circular bouncing for good measure. Best friends since they were babies, Selene and Alexander are inseparable partners-in-crime, two halves of a whole. Many a time has Jack arrived at Chez Bunnymund to pick up his daughter, only to find her covered in paint – Aster is an artist on the side and his paintings often sell for a nice profit, not enough for a steady income hence the job, and as such his hobbies have been passed down to his son. Give the two energetic children paintbrushes, and you have a veritable pair of Jackson Pollocks on your hands.

"Mommy, Selene's here!" Alexander shouts to his mother, who nods knowingly in a way that screams _"yes, I can see that!"_

"Hey Tooth," he says as he embraces the electric blue-haired woman in a warm, welcoming hug, "I'm guessing you've had an eventful morning?"

"Oh, you have _no_ idea. Alexander has been a complete livewire since he woke up; he's so excited about today. It took me twenty minutes just to get him to sit down for his breakfast." she groans, patting his back as she pulls away.

"I can imagine. Guessing Alexander has Mr North for his classes?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"Just a lucky guess," he chuckles, then turns towards his daughter who is now engaged in a fierce debate with her friend about how her Captain Marvel T-shirt is _way_ better than his Batman t-shirt, "hey, snowflake? Alexander's in your classes too."

"Captain Marvel is better because she's a girl! Not some smelly…wait…yay!" she cheers as the news finally sinks in, and promptly links her hands with her friend's and begins the bouncing all over again.

Jack sniggers while Tooth incredulously shakes her head, bewildered at the sheer amount of energy that can be produced and used by a human being half her size.

"You know," she says with a wince in her voice, "I wonder if Mr North will survive the day…"

"I'm pretty sure he's trained for this," Jack chuckles, but inside he anxiously wonders the same thing given Selene's mischief and Alexander's endless liveliness, "anyway, I should probably get going. Need to make a stop before I get to work."

Sliding it from the left pocket of his smart pants, a quick check of the time on his phone confirms his suspicions – seven forty five. Fifteen minutes to get to the car and get to work on time, with a quick stop for a klaxon and duct tape on the way. Provided there are no surprises, he reckons he can make it in time – it's only ten minutes to Southernisle Insurance from Arendelle Elementary.

"Okay, Jack," Tooth smiles as she hugs him goodbye, "try not to get too bored. Oh, and tell my husband to watch his sugar intake, would you? I'm trying to set an example for good oral hygiene for Alexander, and he's not helping by having four sugars in his coffee."

Jack smiles as he nods knowingly – Tooth is _very_ big on healthy gums and teeth, and as such tries incredibly hard to impress upon her husband and son the importance of sugary moderation – the problem is that Aster has a sweet tooth (which he _actually_ used as a pick-up line when he first met Tooth in high school, to Jack's eternal embarrassment. It worked, though).

"Will do," he acknowledges, then kneels down so he is at eye level with Selene once more, "hey, kiddo? Daddy has to go to work now, but Aunty Tooth is going to pick you up from school and take you to her house, then I'll come by after work to take you home. Okay?"

"Okay, Daddy," she says as she relinquishes her grasp of Alexander and throws her arms around him for an adorably tight hug around his neck, "have fun at work today!"

"And," Tooth adds with a finger in the air, indicating that the next sentence is predicated on something important, "if you two are good, then we're going for ice cream after school."

Selene and Alexander's faces brighten with the power of a floodlight as they gasp with childlike joy, and instinctively their arms link up once more, heralding the start of a third round of bouncing.

"Yay! Ice cream!" they cheer happily, while Jack shoots Tooth an incredulous look from his spot near the floor.

"What happened to setting an example?"

"Eh," she shrugs, "it's their first day. They deserve a treat just this once. Don't worry about her, Jack, she's gonna love school."

He shakes his head in amused exasperation at the slight case of double standards, and with a quick kiss on Selene's cheek _– "eeew, gross!" –_ he quickly bids Tooth and the two children goodbye and adeptly dodges the dozens of people all waiting for the day to begin at five past eight.

It's a little bit manic, that's for sure, but there's an air of excited anticipation in the corridor that only first-school-days can yield, the knowledge that your child is ready to learn more about the world around them, to expand on their numeracy, delve into the beautiful fantasy that only kids' books can offer, and begin the inexorable journey to a fully-fledged member of society.

The idea still scares the shit out of him, but right now…he's okay with it.

As he carefully dodges a mother with long flowing brown hair and her two twin boys – both auburn haired with cleft chins – his phone vibrates in his hand in that staccato rhythm that indicates a text, and as he pushes open the door into the freedom of the outside air, he glances down at the new notification.

 _mate, netflix's daredevil. watch it, live it, love it. – Aster_

Jack shakes his head as he taps out a reply, his fingers working furiously as he adeptly dodges the onslaught of human beings headed his way from the parking lot.

 _I don't have Netflix and can't afford it, you kangaroo! – J_

He smirks to himself as he awaits his buddy's reply; Aster is an honest, black-and-white kind of guy who you can depend on for anything, including a royal kick up the ass, and Jack has nothing but respect for him. It doesn't mean that the tall Australian is exempt from snarky humour, though, and the white-haired man knows exactly which buttons to push for maximum grumpiness.

 _you can use my pw, and i swear if you call me a kangaroo one more time im gonna deck you – Aster_

He's unable to prevent a victorious laugh from escaping his throat as he crosses the road and walks into the parking lot itself, bearing slightly to the right towards his blue Ford parked in the middle of the far edge. By now, most of the parents have either dropped their kids off or are waiting inside, so he's in no danger of becoming a human pancake served on the warm asphalt.

He's so involved in deciding on the myriad responses that he could utilise to piss Aster off even more, from apologising for the usage of 'kangaroo' and electing instead for 'wet wombat', to implying that he finds New Zealand to be prettier than Australia, that he completely fails to notice and nearly bumps into the woman stood in front of his car…

…and as he looks up to apologise profusely for his lack of spatial awareness and catches a glimpse of her face, his heart stops, his lungs catch, his throat closes…and instead of a hasty _"I'm so sorry, I wasn't watching where I was going!"_ he can't even croak out her name through dry lips, parted in shock.

It can't be. She _cannot_ be standing here, all these years later, like nothing ever happened.

The ghost of his past smiles nervously at him as cerulean orbs gaze through shimmering wetness into stunned cobalt blue, and when she faintly speaks in that soft, silky smooth voice that used to sound like music to his ears…it's like he'll never breathe again.

"Hello Jack…"

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **She's back...but what's going to happen next?**

 **Until next time.**


	5. The Boomerang

" **The Boomerang"**

"Elsa?"

Given the sheer maelstrom of emotions coursing through his mind and body all fighting for dominance, and the winded feeling of being metaphorically punched in the gut, it's a minor miracle that Jack can even croak out her name in a voice of broken glass.

Right now, the winning reaction is complete and utter shock, like he just walked into a dream. There she is, his siren of high school with a brown leather handbag on her right shoulder, clad in black yoga pants – dammit, evidently she remembers what those do to him – a white shirt tied at the waist with the top two buttons free, a black leather jacket…

…and that French braid. The same style she wore when they met, when they took their vows, when they brought Selene into the world. He sees her exactly as he remembers her – Elsa Frost, beautiful as ever. More so, in fact; five and a half years has done well for her, judging by how her platinum blonde colour shimmers in the sun's light, and how her skin looks positively radiant. She looks...breathtaking, and it only intensifies the gut-punch; she looks more alive _now_ than when they were together.

"Yes, Jack. It's me." she softly whispers as she tentatively steps closer to him, and the slightly warmer smile seemingly shows that while she's cautious as to what will happen, she's happy he remembers her.

Of course he does. True to Sarah's wisdom, he will never forget her.

Nor will he forget what she did.

Therefore, as soon as her murmured words caress his ears like a sweet recollection of happier times, the stunned shock is swiftly torn aside…

…and anger takes centre stage as the dream is ripped asunder, and acute reality comes crashing down. He takes two steps backwards as dumbfounded becomes cold, and Elsa freezes in place, surprised-yet-not by his involuntary defensive reaction. The falling of her face is almost painful to see.

"What do you want, Elsa?" he says coldly, his mind electing for emotion _less_ as opposed to emotion _al_. His heart is too chaotic; there's too many emotions flowing through its chambers for it to decide on one particular reaction. Part of him wants to embrace her, kiss her, cry into her shoulder…

Another part of him wants to scream that he never wants to see her again.

So his mind shuts them behind a fifty foot high wall in order for him to cope.

Her lips part as she flinches at the abrupt change in his tone and demeanour, and for a time there's nothing but silence between them, an uncomfortable disquiet permeated only by the ambient melody of school life to edge the painfully awkward reunion of two people once in love, now strangers. She's scared and he knows it – fear is the only reason her words remain stilled in her throat.

He folds his arms defensively across his chest, unaware that his left fingers are exposed as they rest on his bicep, and he catches the flicking of her eyes down to the finger devoid of the wedding ring – and he can almost _see_ the catch of her breath as she comes to the realisation…or the proof. Whatever she came here to say, it's taking her a long time to say it – and it's time that the rising irritation tells Jack he can ill afford.

"I don't have time for this, I'm going to be late for work." he growls.

Unfolding his arms from across his chest, he stalks past her towards the driver's side door five feet away, holding his breath so he can't inhale the scent that she probably still wears – fresh snow with a hint of peppermint. He knows that if he even breathes the tiniest amount his heart will betray him, and he's far too angry – or prideful – for that.

"Wait, Jack…" she calls out softly behind him.

"No." he snarls back, two feet away from the door, to his escape.

"Please!" she cries, and as he reaches out for the handle he feels a hand lace itself around his left forearm, igniting a dual sensation of heart-warming relief and cold rage. He freezes in step, and as his breaths come deep and ragged from controlling his anger, he slowly turns his fiery gaze towards her pleading ice-blue eyes and even more slowly down to the hand imploring him to stay.

"Don't touch me."

His voice, low and firm like the beginnings of an earthquake has the desired effect, and she slowly relinquishes her grasp of his arm and reluctantly returns it to the straps of her handbag, her knuckles white as she squeezes _them_ instead. In a moment of curiosity, his eyes flick up to her left hand…and she's still wearing her wedding ring.

He doesn't know whether he feels angered or flattered.

"Please, I just…I was hoping we could…" she mutters, and he knows exactly what the next word will be. He's not ready for it. Not now. Not like this, an out-of-the-blue meeting.

"Talk?" he rounds on her, and she flinches under the searing fire of his gaze, "You shut me out for six months, go off the grid for five and a half years and now you want to _talk?_ I don't think so."

"Jack, please! I-" she protests, even going so far as to take another few steps towards him. For a second, her involuntary movement roots him to the spot; his heart is punching holes in his ribcage, his breathing is out of control and the thin dam that holds back the cyclone of his emotions is starting to break.

He knows he needs to go.

"No. I'm late for work. Goodbye, Elsa."

Without another word he surges for the driver's side door and wrenches it open, desperately seeking the sanctity and pseudo-'protection' of the inside of his car. Under Elsa's moist, heart-breaking gaze he slams the door shut, ignites the engine and a little too roughly drives out of the space, only remembering to clip his seatbelt when he's at least twenty feet away.

A glance in the rear-view mirror reveals a sight to him that catches his breath and sends an edge of guilt to the flight instinct governing his actions: the dwindling figure of Elsa has her mouth in her left hand as she stares after him, and she looks so _lost_.

Today has been one hell of a rollercoaster and it's not even eight o'clock – and if the thunderous heartbeat and rapid, panicked, uncontrollable breaths are any indication as his desperate restraint falls apart, he's not coping well with the fact that Elsa Frost just effortlessly flipped his world upside down.

Again.

* * *

Elsa's surprise appearance has done a lot of damage, and it's only when he exits the elevator on the sixth floor of the Southernisle Insurance building that he realises just how much it has done.

For a start, he _should_ have been wearing one of the biggest smiles on his face after seeing his daughter begin her first day at school and taking her first steps on the road of graded educational life. His walk should've been something like that Leonardo DiCaprio meme, and if he _really_ wanted to embarrass himself and not even care in the slightest, hum a bouncy tune to himself and attract incredulous stares from his colleagues - except all of that went out the window as soon as Elsa fucking Frost appeared by his car without so much as a warning or even a heads up. Just like that, out of the blue.

Therefore, the happy thoughts of his daughter's first day are fighting with the anger-filled thoughts of the woman that had just magically reappeared, and he (perhaps unfairly) hates her for that. In his mind, she just ruined one of the best days of his life.

He doesn't regret his earlier behaviour; in fact he was quite proud of his restraint. Everything within him was screaming to let fly all that frustration and anger, to lay the blame _right_ at her feet.

In a slightly superficial thought – the worst part is he was in such a rush to make up for the lost time standing in front of the car that he forgot to buy the klaxon and duct tape. Aster gets a day's grace, it seems.

Speaking of the Australian, he's the first one to notice the thundercloud above Jack's head as he collapses onto the worn computer chair in his cubicle and buries his face in his hands out of sheer exasperation.

"You okay there, mate?" he asks concernedly, peering over the hollow blue barricade with a frown upon his tanned features. He always pokes his head over the top whenever the white-haired man arrives to ask him how his morning went and chat about nonsensical stuff. Jack just silently shakes his head as he removes his hands from his face, plucks a pencil from the pot in front of him and desperately tries not to snap the fucker in two.

"C'mon then," Aster says with his characteristic drawl, "let's get a coffee."

Jack glances up just as the blue-black haired man disappears from his cubicle, about to question the logic of going for a coffee break literally just when he arrived – especially when it skirts-with-slash-breaks one of the rules that their floor manager Hans has laid.

 _Coffee breaks are at a specific time only; productivity of employees will not be impeded by needless chit chat._

With a slightly annoyed sigh, he half-heartedly tosses his pencil at the phone on his desk, rises from his seat having not even started work and follows his buddy to the coffee room at the end of their floor.

The _Room of Sanity Reclamation_ , as most of the staff call it, is a baby blue six foot by eighteen foot rectangular room with a cheap faux-marble counter on one side, full size white single door fridge at the far end, a white dishwasher nestled under the counter to the right of the doorway and two half-full coffee machines situated on either side of the stainless steel sink in the middle of the counter.

By the time Jack enters the comparatively quieter surroundings situated almost a world away from the bustling voices of the call centre room, Aster is already pouring two cups of something that looks – and smells – offensive, mitigating the liquid violence by shaking in lashings of sugar.

"Don't tell Tooth." he mutters as he opens the fifth sachet and vigorously shakes the sweet contents into the evil brown substance. It's only a small polystyrene cup so there is probably more sugar than liquid in there, but given that there's an urban myth going around the office about the coffee eating through the cups; Jack can hardly blame him and of course swears his silence.

"So," he casually begins, passing one cup over, "today is Selene's first day, right?"

"Yeah." Jack mutters quietly, gazing into the brown substance with a frown on his pale countenance.

"Okay, so with that in mind, I should really be spending my time trying to poke you down from the ceiling with a broomstick, but instead I'm wondering why you look like someone's got your bollocks in a twist."

Jack quietly snorts as the left side of his lips slightly curl. Aster rarely minces his words, and sometimes it's the sheer randomness of his speech that manages to lift any dark mood. The taller man fixes his companion with an emerald-green, questioning gaze that lingers even when he leans his butt against the counter and folds his left hand across his chest to support his right elbow.

"So, why _are_ your bollocks in a twist? Can't be something at school, else Tooth woulda told me. So c'mon, spill the beans." he persists, casually taking a sip from his coffee as he continues to regard his colleague. Jack casts a quick glance over at his old friend and, knowing that there's no way the subject is going to be dropped, he sighs exasperatedly as he begins to recount the second time she turned his world upside down.

"I was on my way back to the car from dropping Selene off, and you know how I get when I'm texting someone, right?"

"Yeah," Aster nods sagely, "you're about as spatially aware as a dodgems car."

"Thanks for that." Jack mutters sarcastically.

"No problem, Frostbite."

"Asshole. Anyway, I'm a few feet away from my car when I bump into this woman-"

"Didja get her number?" Aster sniggers into his cup as he takes a deep swig.

"-shut the fuck up. So, I look up to apologise, and…" Jack says, and his voice trails off in a moment of almost reminiscent wistfulness, "…it's her."

He looks over at the Aussie, whose lips are around the rim of his cup in the middle of his swig, regarding him with an expression that screams _'what am I, telepathic?'_

"It was Elsa."

Whatever was in Aster's mouth at that point was spat out in incredulous surprise, the spray of coffee impacting the wall opposite and leaving a hideous brown stain on the otherwise fading baby blue. The offending man chokes on what did _not_ hastily vacate his mouth, swiftly cupping a hand under his chin to prevent anything from staining his impeccably white shirt and navy necktie.

"Yeah," Jack deadpans, "that was kinda my reaction too…minus the coffee and the spitting, of course."

"You're fuckin' kiddin' me…" Aster croaks as he wipes his mouth, his throat evidently still yelling at him. Jack merely shakes his head in grim silence.

"After all those years…right in front of your fuckin' car?" he continues disbelievingly, and Jack knows the bewilderment is accompanied by indignant anger as Aster rarely curses so often in such a short space of time.

"Yep. Talk about a surprise, huh?"

"Crikey…how are you coping?" Aster frowns concernedly, not even caring about the droplets of coffee sliding down the wall.

"The woman who I loved more than anything, who disappeared out of my life just blindsided me in the school parking lot. How do you _think?_ " Jack snaps back, and though a surge of guilt for the abrupt tone causes him to brace for a good old fashioned Australian scolding…his friend's only response is to fish his phone from his smart pants pocket and deftly dial a number.

"Wait…what are you doing?"

"What does it look like? I'm making a call – we'll both be in deep shit if Hans catches us standing around doin' nothin', so you and I are gonna talk properly later on. I ain't havin' ya bottle this up, no way." he explains firmly as he raises the phone to his right ear – and the loud voice that answers is a sign that Jack doesn't need to know he called his wife.

" _Hi sweetie!"_

"Hey hon, you got a minute?" he replies, and Jack almost smiles at the warmth that graces Aster's words whenever he talks to her.

" _Um, I just walked in to the dental practice but I still need to get ready…so yeah, I've got a minute. What's up?"_

Jack winces at the involuntary mental image of a needle sliding into gum, and tries to steel himself from a series of unpleasant shudders. He likes Tooth, but he _hates_ dentists.

"Erm, it's sort of a big ask, but can you look after Alex and Selene for a little bit after we finish work? I'm sorry to kinda drop it on you…"

" _Aster, honey, if this is about you going to the bar with your mates-"_

"Elsa's back."

There's silence on the other end of the phone call, and Jack can sense one of two situations: either she is seething and is about to become a human Vesuvius (God help her patients), or she's fainted.

" _God, of course. No, that's fine Aster. Does Jack want Selene to know?"_

Jack catches Aster's questioning glance, and a little-too-vigorously shakes his head. There's a right way and a wrong way to do things like this, and Selene learning about her mother's reappearance from her godmother and not from _him_ would definitely qualify for the 'wrong' box.

"Not yet, hon. I don't blame him."

" _Neither do I. That's fine; you take him to the bar. I'll pick up the kids and hold down the fort. Give him my love, will you?"_

Aster smiles as he fingers his wedding band, and for a moment Jack feels a flash of envy across his heart…and he has no idea why. He never felt like that until now.

"Thanks hon, you're a cracking woman. Will do, we'll only be an hour or two, knowing Jack."

" _Take all the time you need. Love you, sweetie."_

"Love you too, hon. See you later."

Still smiling, Aster carefully hangs up the call, slides the phone back into his pocket, and glances up at Jack – who wears an expression of mild incredulity.

"…what?"

"You're taking me…"

"…yeah?

"….an ex-alcoholic…"

"…yeah?

"…to a bar?"

Aster rolls his eyes as he pours the remainder of his coffee into the sink and lobs the empty cup into the trash basket opposite the refrigerator – and hilariously, he misses.

"Eh," he scoffs, waving a dismissive hand at the still-rolling cup as he pushes himself off the counter and makes his way to the open door, "you've been clean for five years, mate. Besides, you can always have soda. Either way, you and I are gonna chat."

"Uh…Aster?" Jack quietly calls after him, prompting the taller man to stop at the doorway and turn his head, the expression on his face clearly anticipating a "thank you".

He doesn't get one. Jack's 'thanks' is a smirk, a simple incline of the head and a gesture of his cobalt eyes towards the horrid brown stain on the wall – and following his gaze, Aster hisses a _"shit!"_ of realisation and scrambles towards the wall-mounted cupboards to retrieve the half-used roll of disposable kitchen towels.

Sniggering mockingly, Jack creeps away as his friend slams sheet after sheet against the dripping, staining liquid, muttering curses for not cleaning it up earlier.

"Fuck, that's gonna…hey, wait! Where the bloody hell are _you_ going?"

"It wasn't me that made the mess." Jack teases over his shoulder as he slips through the doorway to – heaven forbid – do some actual work for today.

"Oh, that's nice! Leave me to do all the work, why don't ya! Bloody wanker!" comes the inimitable grumpy Aussie grumbling from behind him.

Having a bad day? Tease Aster.

It works every time.

* * *

The mood inside The Boomerang, Aster's favourite Australian themed bar is pretty upbeat and talkative, with a dozen cheerful voices bouncing from the worn mahogany flooring, bar and tables like an ambient blanket of positivity. Aussies seem to be a happy lot – at least, that's what the Fosters commercials would have you believe – so the longer Jack spends inside the pub, the more convinced he is that his long-time friend is a grumpy anomaly, and therefore part asshole.

Still, he cares very much for his snow-haired co-worker, and it's for that reason that he hasn't tried prompting Jack to speak at all during the last half hour they've spent around the circular, worn mahogany table. Aster is halfway through his second pint of beer while Jack hasn't even touched his lemonade – despite his co-worker's protests to the contrary, Jack doesn't trust himself as far as alcohol is concerned and therefore wants to be safe rather than sorry.

So you could say that their table is an island of melancholy in a sea of optimism.

The reason for _that_ is the distraction provided dutifully by a day of mindless cold-calling has long passed, and he is now at the mercy of his own thoughts as he tries to set the table on fire with his gaze. Of course, the entire point of him being dragged into this den of liquid temptation is to vent, and as all things eventually do…the heavy silence comes to an end.

"Know what pisses me off, Aster?" Jack growls as a scowl slowly creeps across his countenance, his eyes not shifting from the invisibly burning centre of the table.

"Nah, mate."

"She just…she…" he stammers, and it's at this point that he knows the wall is breaking and all the built up anger is screwing with his speech, "she just fucking turns up out of the blue, stands there by my car looking absolutely beautiful…completely flawless, like nothing ever happened. Fuck, she even looks _better_ than before she left. She's fucking _glowing,_ dude. Like my god damn angel descending from heaven again – and I'm praying that Selene didn't see her on the way in. Right on her first day of school, she just waltzes back into our lives."

Aster knows not to say anything at this point, as Jack is on a roll.

"I'm thinking of yelling things like _'where the fuck were you while I was single-handedly raising our daughter? While your sister was trying to be the role model you were supposed to be?_ '…but I just couldn't."

"It's not that I don't want her to know how much she hurt _me_ …but I just…I didn't want to start yelling in the school parking lot, for one of Selene's classmates to go _'oh hey, your daddy was yelling at a lady outside…'_ , because the first thing she'll ask me when I see her is _'who was that lady you were shouting at?'_. I can't lie to my daughter, so how the hell would I explain it? Not to mention the fact that…"

"…she completely knocked you for six, mate." Aster finishes sagely, and Jack nods his thanks for accurately finishing his thoughts – using a cricket metaphor, no less.

"Anyway…the whole 'not screaming' thing? I'd be frothing at the mouth in your position, so that's pretty mature of you, mate."

Jack nods solemnly and absent-mindedly strokes his lemonade glass. His mind races through the morning's events, what he's going to do from this point forward. When should he tell his daughter? _Should_ he? Every part of him that is angry is screaming to keep it from her, but it's not right. He knows that. Selene has a right to know.

She'll just have to wait until he can talk about Elsa without wanting to fling a plate at the wall.

Gazing off to the left, Aster exhales deeply though his nose as he takes a deep swig of his amber liquid, and this is the point that Jack knows he's about to make a critical point; there's always a thoughtful, focused look behind the emerald greens, and it _always_ preceded something important.

"What I wanna know is," he says after swallowing the mouthful of beer, "how she knew where you would be and when you'd be there, 'cause she sure as hell didn't ask me or Tooth."

Jack slumps back against the creaky wooden chair with an expression of complete comprehension on his face – Aster is completely on the money.

"You're right," he mutters as his face goes blank in realisation, "she must have found out…but how? She didn't ask you two, my mom wouldn't have told her, and God help her if Emma saw her…so that leaves…"

"Hey guys, uh…can I sit?"

Jack doesn't even need to look up to recognise that voice, though in his peripheral vision he can make out the rich blue leggings, black crop top and purple fitted pea-coat that constitutes Anna Bjorgman's favourite outdoor look – and the deep, calming breath that he takes in though his nose is telling…adding an awkward level of tension that Aster is particularly receptive to.

Jack nods once while his buddy gestures at the empty chair directly opposite them which she wastes no time sliding out and promptly occupying, and his cobalt blues slowly inch up from the lemonade glass to meet sympathetic and cautious orbs of sapphire gazing right back at him.

"Wasn't expecting ya, Anna." the Australian says in a low, emotionless tone – and Jack is starkly aware that he came to the same conclusion as to the identity of Elsa's source.

"Yeah," she responds in that soft voice of hers, "I knocked on your door, Jack, and when you didn't answer I called Tooth. She told me where you guys would be."

Jack feels that familiar build-up of anger once more, the same sensation that gripped him in the parking lot – and though he distinctly remembers the last time he and Anna had an argument…this time is different.

"Jack, I swear I didn't know until this afternoon. When she turned up at my door, she told me she had been to see you…and believe you me, I gave her hell for that!"

"Don't lie to me, Anna. Please don't. You and I have been through too much together for you to disrespect me by lying." he says in an even, emotionless voice as he keeps his gaze firmly and inextricably locked on her startled eyes.

"I'm not lying, Jack-"

"No," he screws his eyes shut as though he's desperately trying to stay calm, "I have this feeling you are. See, Elsa was standing by my car at eight in the morning, so she knew exactly where I'd be and when. Also, she looked fresh as a daisy. Know what that means?"

Anna blinks as her bottom lip finds its way between her teeth, and a flash of guilt crosses her face – she knows where he's going with this. Out of the corner of his vision, Jack can see Aster's head gently turn between the two of them, seemingly conscious as to the potential end result.

"Frostbite…maybe you should-"

"It means she was here yesterday, am I right?" Jack cuts him off, "And considering you're the only other person aside from Aster, Tooth and I that know she's in town, it means she must have crashed at your place, so you _knew_ she was here yesterday and you didn't tell me."

"How was I supposed to, Jack? Oh, by the way, your for-all-intents-and-purposes ex-wife just arrived in the city?" Anna protests, her pitch and speed of delivery increasing with each word.

"I don't fucking know, but a little heads up would have been nice!" Jack snaps, and for a moment there is nothing but tense silence at the table, filled only with the unsaid protests of his sister-in-law and his heavy nasal breathing. His logic and his point is sound, and she knows it.

"…you're right. I'm sorry, Jack. I just…she…I was so stunned." she mutters as her gaze moves apologetically to the scratches on her side of the table.

"And I wasn't? You had an entire day to get over being stunned, Anna. It doesn't take long to pick up the phone. Fuck, even a text would've been helpful!"

"It's not just you that had to deal with this, Jack! She's my sister too, you know!" she practically shouts, and for a second he is taken aback. He knows it was as much a surprise for her sister to turn up at her door, and he's not unsympathetic at all.

"I know," he replies calmly, "but look at it from my position – if she came by my house yesterday, and I didn't tell you…"

"…I would have kicked your ass," Anna finishes, nodding knowingly and a little defeatedly, "I'm really sorry, Jack. I should have told you she was here. I just…I wasn't lying about only finding out this afternoon."

"How _did_ she know, anyway?" Aster asks as he leans back into his chair, satisfied that World War Three won't start in The Boomerang. Anna sighs deeply and audibly as she laces her fingers together on top of the table, staring very intently at Jack's untouched lemonade.

"It was an accident. I was…talking with Kristoff last night about how excited I was for Selene's first day and how awesome it was that she's going the same school we went to when _we_ were kids…and Elsa walked into the room just as I said it. I swear, I told her that under no circumstances was she to…well…do what she did. She said she wouldn't…but I guess wanting to see you for the first time in forever got the better of her. She still loves you, you know."

"Yeah, well, she ignored you. Fuck…what if Selene saw her? You know as well as I do how many times she's asked where her mother is! What the hell do you think seeing her mother for the first time would have done on her first day of school?" Jack hisses; his voice…well, his entire demeanour at this point is full of indignant anger, and it brings an air of nervous tension to the table akin to a bomb disposal expert in the field. He's not sure why, but the notion that Elsa still loves him spikes his ire rather than calms it.

"It was an accident! I'm sorry, alright? I didn't mean for her to…" she trails off, and what _does_ cool his boiling blood is the reservoir of tears in both of his sister-in-law's eyes. As far as she is concerned, Elsa's sudden appearance has caused one massive snowballing clusterfuck…and she's desperately attempting damage control.

A long and apologetic exhalation escapes through Jack's nose as he gazes upon her remorseful countenance, and he feels his heart start to twinge. She's as much in a state of shock as he still is, so while he feels he is in the right to be angry, she isn't the cause of it. Hell, it could be argued that she's as much a victim, so he reaches a sympathetic hand over to his sister in law and grasps her fingers comfortingly.

"I'm sorry too, firecracker. Your sister appearing at your door must've been a helluva shock for you."

Anna sniffs as she unlaces one hand and places it over his in support.

"You're telling me. I closed and opened the door about three times 'cause I thought I was dreaming, and when she told me where she was this morning, I never yelled so much in my life…including at you. I asked her what she was expecting to happen, blindsiding you like that…and she said she just wanted to see you before she burst into tears. She's still at home, crying her eyes out." she says quietly while her hopeful and pointed eyes slowly move up to meet his, and there's a flash of that familiar anger that sears his heart as he abruptly slides his hand away, slips them into the pockets of his black military jacket, and looks off to the side with a stony expression on his pale features.

"She can cry me a river."

There's an audible sucking of breath from Aster's direction, and he can see Anna almost recoil from the terseness of his words – but they reflect exactly how he feels. He's far too angry for any meaningful conversation with Elsa, and at this point in time he doesn't know _when_ he won't be. She hurt him. She hurt Selene. That kind of anger, that kind of protective fury doesn't fade so easily.

"Jack, I know you're pissed off…and I would be too…but what if you just heard her out? I mean, while she did a stupid thing, it _did_ take guts to-"

"Can I ask you a question, and can you be truthful with your answer?" he asks evenly as he moves his piercing gaze to meet her nervous eyes, and her face tenses in preparation while gently nodding her assent.

"If our roles were reversed; if it was your sister in place of me, you were the one consoling her, and it was Aster that sat down and said all that…would you offer _me_ the same courtesy, or would you tell me to go to hell?"

Her silence is telling; though they have been apart for many years, the younger sibling's protectiveness of Elsa's feelings has not diminished a single iota, and his almost indiscernible smile is a grim curl of confirmation.

"That's what I thought."

Unwilling to be a part of the conversation for any longer, Jack takes a quick sip of his lemonade so it wasn't a _total_ waste of money as he rises from the table – thankful that he didn't choose a beer like he was tempted to do, as chances are after that conversation he would have drained it and asked for a second…a dangerous and familiar road that takes but one step.

"Thanks for the drink, Aster, but I'm gonna go and pick up my daughter now."

As he slides back his chair and starts towards the entrance, he catches Anna's almost pleading gaze – she was the biggest supporter of their relationship and marriage, even going so far as to verbally berate her parents on several occasions for their obvious disdain that Elsa didn't pick someone more worthy of her affections. As far as she was concerned, the 'Jelsa ship' as it was known in high school was something she thought unbreakable…so the idea that Jack is reluctant to even entertain the idea of dialogue between him and her sister is something that seems to elicit a deep ache in her heart. Noticing her expression of hope, her silent imploring for him to reconsider, he pinches the bridge of his nose in a dual attempt to convey frustration and soothe a rising tension headache.

"I hear what you're saying, Anna, but…people don't do what she did to those they love." he says quietly, and depriving her of a chance to reply he sweeps away from the table and toward the freedom outside.

Today has been a pretty shit day, and he needs the only person in his life that can make it better.

* * *

The drive home from Chez Bunnymund was loud and upbeat, a perfect polar opposite to the melancholic and frustrating aura in the little corner of The Boomerang, and there was a couple of things he was thankful for.

One was Tooth's complete topical avoidance of Elsa's reappearance when he arrived to take Selene home, leading Jack to conclude that either Aster sent a text to his wife in preparation, or more than likely she was already sensitive to the contentious topic and made the right call in not mentioning a word about the platinum blonde. Whichever it happened to be, to him it felt almost like the day was a normal day devoid of clusterfucks and blindsides, and for that he was grateful for the support of his two friends – but the warm hug he received when she opened the door was enough for him to know she had his back.

The other was the squeal of _"Daddy!"_ seconds after he arrived as Selene came tearing through the doorway of the dining room opposite the front door, her arms wide open as she tackled her kneeling (and beaming) father with a loving hug – true to form, she and Alexander spent most of their time painting several sheets of A3 paper _and_ themselves, judging by the multicolour paint-covered child overalls in the laundry basket waiting by the free-standing kitchen counter and the splodges of dried purple paint on her hands and cheeks. One exuberant greeting, a warm hug and an expression of adoration was all it needed to completely wipe away the tension of the day…and he _loves_ Selene for that.

And the best part was: not once from the moment she saw him, to right now where she's freshly dried from her bath, dressed in her pyjamas and cuddled up in bed did she mention anything about a woman in the school parking lot.

Everything else, however, _is_ being talked about – loudly, rapidly, and at length – and has pretty much been repeated three or four times ever since they waved goodbye to Aunty Tooth – and she's _still_ waxing lyrical.

And Jack's supposed to be settling her down for the night as it's eight thirty… yet he can't help but smile with true happiness as she talks and gestures animatedly, his right hand stroking her head as she chatters away.

"And we learned about fish, and did you know that whales are actually mammals, and Alexander is _really_ fast but I still won Tag, and I had chocolate ice cream with Aunty Tooth after school, and we painted and…"

"Steady on, kiddo," he laughs, watching his daughter nearly reach a critical mass of glee, "you're supposed to be going to sleep. Need your energy for tomorrow!"

She still babbles away as though she hadn't heard him, and Jack gazes with contented pride at her. She's his perfect little girl, all energy and intelligence, but cold and deadly when she wants to be. Just like her mother.

How will he tell her?

' _Oh, by the way Selene, you know your mother who you haven't seen since you were a baby? She's back…um…ta-da?'_

He still decides that it's best to wait. He's just starting to come to terms with her reappearance in his life after all; he needs to make sense of it before he breaks the news to his daughter, and for a moment he wonders how she will cope.

In a proud yet envious realisation as he watches her re-enact a whale swimming in the sea with her left hand, he reckons she'll do a better job of it than he is. As far as she's concerned, she has no memory of her mother. She'll just be getting to know a new stranger…but that's _if_ Jack can bring himself to see past the anger.

And that's easier said than done – because at this point in time, whether it be out of selfishness or genuine protectiveness, he doesn't want Elsa anywhere near Selene…

…which, in and of itself, is a heart-breaking conclusion.

"Daddy?" she asks in the middle of a huge yawn, and the sweet innocent voice is a welcome distraction from the sensitive nature of his thoughts, especially as her tone is no longer excitable and frenetic but quiet and laboured – betraying just how tired his little monkey is. He smiles warmly at her drooping eyes, and for a moment entertains the notion that the whole Elsa debacle has been forgotten, at least for today.

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"Where is Mama? Why was she not at school today?"

And then the moment passes.

He feels his heart crack just that little bit under the defensive walls. She's asked this question several times since she was three – with varying levels of eloquence as one would expect, so he feels stupid for thinking tonight would be any different…but on some level, it _is._ Every time the question has been posed before, his answer has always been truthful and identical – _"I don't know, kiddo"._

But now he knows exactly where she is.

"I don't know, kiddo, but…wherever she is, I'm sure she really, really wanted to be there for you." he says with as much conviction as he can muster, and mentally stabs himself for lying to her.

"Really?" she asks, and just like before her question is born of innocent curiosity rather than the feeling that she is somehow missing out – and her father silently thanks his stars that it's still the case…for now.

"Really."

"Okay. Daddy?" she asks again, and Jack prays that it's not another question he has to answer with a half-truth.

"Yeah, snowflake?"

"I love you, Daddy."

Those four words coupled with her outstretched arms kick off an uncontrollable melting of his heart, completely soothing away the slow fractures that elicit a self-hating ache. Smiling widely, he bends into her embrace and feels the wrapping of her little arms around his neck, completely chasing away the anger.

"Love you too, kiddo." he says as he plants a kiss on her cheek…then a loud and wet raspberry on her forehead.

"Eeeew, gross!" she whines in childlike disgust, the act of wiping her forehead with her sleeve wracking him with chuckles, and he winks as he rises from her small bed and turns off her bedside light.

"Goodnight, kiddo." he soothes as he quietly steps through her doorway, receiving a suddenly sleepy _'goodnight Daddy'_ in response as he pulls the door halfway, just as she likes it. She has been afraid of the dark ever since she had a nightmare involving a tall grey man – so the upstairs hallway light is _always_ on and her door is _always_ halfway, bathing the end of her bed in a safe, amber glow.

It also helps for easy access to her father's room so she can cuddle up to him should she feel particularly scared by a bad dream – and there's been a few of those lately.

Five minutes later and he's already dressed in his a navy blue hooded sweater and brown pyjama pants (also known as his layabout clothes), his feet up on the coffee table in his living room as he watches Steve Harvey face-palm for the fiftieth time on _Family Feud._ On any other night, he would be joining in with the perpetually bewildered host in cursing the lack of common sense among most of the show's contestants, but right now his mind is ablaze with questions and thoughts.

Questions, like after suddenly upping sticks and disappearing with only a note to explain why (and it wasn't even an explanation, just a few words and a half-empty wardrobe), she had suddenly decided to reappear in his life like the past five and a half years never happened.

He still has that note, hidden in the box of all the mementoes they collected over the course of their relationship; pictures from a spontaneous dive into a photo booth during a double date, postcards from when they spent two weeks in Norway, their engagement rings…and _his_ wedding ring. On the odd occasion, he likes to swim in the memories of their relationship, the good times that they shared and the bad times that they pulled through like the unbreakable couple they supposedly were.

Tonight, however, upon stumbling down Memory Lane those questions all merge to one singular query, one that still sits in his mind as he stares vacantly at the television.

 _What happens now?_

* * *

 **Quick A/N:  
Way back when I started writing Raising Selene halfway through CttT, this chapter was supposed to be first - Jack and Selene were preparing for school and Elsa turns up at his door, but when I started to debate publishing it I knew it needed infinitely more exposition and back story (the original incarnation of this chapter was so, so rushed and only provided a brief reference to Elsa's disappearance) therefore I started the story from scratch and used it to provide the framework for this one, while adding a lot more meat to it.**

 **Also, OGaV's "Into the Dark Part One" was supposed to be up next, but with me being so evil and dropping that cliffhanger on y'all (muahahahahaha) I felt you deserved this one first.**

 **I honestly hope this chapter was up to scratch - with Jack being hit out of left field as much as he was, I didn't think he'd realistically be able to formulate enough of a coherent thought process to actually hold a semblance of a 'conversation' with Elsa - but who knows what'll happen when he's ready?**

 **Until next time.**

 **(also, Jurassic World rules).**


	6. The Accidental Call

**A/N: Something important in the concluding author's notes. Don't worry, it's not bad.**

 **"The Accidental Call"**

" _Hello?"_

The masculine voice on the other end of the telephone connection is exasperated yet curious, a reaction all too common in Jack's line of work as an insurance salesman. It's a routine that he has down to an art form – him and every other employee of Southernisle Insurance, of course; you hit the enter key on the keyboard to dial an arbitrarily selected number, prepare your brightest and most affable demeanour as you wait for the dial tone to swim along the wire into a thin and wiry headset, and guess how far into your opening spiel you get before you are summarily interrupted or instantly hung up on.

He _once_ managed to finish it all, but on this particular occasion he's estimating he gets about halfway…maybe even two-thirds. It's usually about the time he utters his name that the call ends, though, and he once wondered if his parents were drunk or having a laugh when they decided to name him after a mythical winter spirit. Brilliant name and quite apt for the person he used to be, but not exactly conducive to a sales environment.

Still, it could be worse. He could have the name Aster freaking _Bunny_ mund.

"Hello! My name is Jack Frost; I'm calling on behalf of-" he speaks with a genial and approachable lilt, but the line abruptly goes dead, cutting him off a third of the way through as per usual.

In the first few weeks of his job when he was naught but a call centre virgin, brusque hang-ups and the occasional volley of snappish vitriol at daring to call would punch at his self-esteem and make him incredibly reluctant to start again, but a few years of it has had the oddly beneficial side-effect of developing a skin thicker than Dwayne Johnson's arms.

He calls, they answer, he speaks, they hang up, he moves on. It's a perpetual cycle that constitutes his working day.

Sometimes he does get a sale, though. Ordinarily it would be cause for celebration as it's a nice little bonus to his monthly salary, but the people that fall for his spiel are usually elderly men or women that just want someone to talk to, or who would buy a statue of pure cow dung if your tongue was silver enough. The kind of people that society tends to leave behind as time goes on, that makes him feel like he's selling a little piece of his soul whenever he succeeds in taking their details.

There was one man who fought in World War Two, specifically in the Pacific Theatre. He remembers listening to this veteran talk about the Okinawa landings, how brutal and uncompromising the battles were. Kamikaze attacks. Soldiers falling left, right and centre, torn apart by machine-gun fire or artillery shells as they fought for every single inch of land. At one stage, Jack completely forgot that he was supposed to be making a sale when the old veteran was describing the exploration of the Japanese cave defence system, and how dozens if not hundreds of the soldiers committed suicide before the Marines could reach them. One of the bloodiest battles in history crammed into a half-hour phone call, straight from the mouth from someone who was _there_.

" _I lost some good friends that day...good men. Anyway, I'm sorry, what was it you were calling about, Mr Frost? I can't remember…"_

Jack remembers hesitating briefly as he was presented with a choice; continue with the sales spiel and get a new customer, or…

" _Huh? Oh, nothing, sir. I was calling from Southernisle Insurance, but was happy to just talk to you."_

" _Oh, bless you. It's not often that people want to do that—what's that, Belle? Oh, I was just talking with this nice man from Southernisle…"_

Even when a younger, female voice had taken over the phone call and subsequently berated Jack for his _"disgustingly predatory behaviour, trying to con an old man into a sale"_ , he still felt that on that day, he was able to buy a small piece of his soul back.

Mental fatigue begins to dull his senses and drop his eyelids as " _New Call?"_ appears in a small window on his computer monitor, and once he notices _that_ he also becomes aware of how stiff and clunky his joints are – lack of real movement for four hours tends to do that. It's at that point that everything starts to feel a little claustrophobic, including but not limited to the headset perched around his aching head, so with a feeling of cathartic satisfaction he laces his fingers around the thin metal strip above his left ear, yanks the whole thing off, and tosses it with a clatter onto the pitifully small and ridiculously cheap wooden desk in front of him.

"Only fifteen minutes 'til lunch break then we've got an hour of freedom, mate. One minute at a time."

Aster's voice lazily drawls through a hole in the hollow cubicle divider, cut by him in a moment of anger and sneakily covered by one of those godawful motivational posters printed on A4 paper. So far, Hans hasn't noticed the damage and if the two men keep quiet he never will…but it does mean that the Australian doesn't need to stand up and peer over the cubicle wall any more.

"Can't come fast enough. God, I hate this place." Jack mutters through his hands as he tries desperately to wipe the weariness from his face.

"Ain't that the truth, mate. Anyway, how's the kid settling into school?" his friend asks with genuine curiosity, and he knows that the Aussie is trying to distract him and steer his mind to happier things. Ever since the incident in the school parking lot and in the Boomerang, Aster has deftly avoided the topic of Elsa Frost like it's a red-hot ball of fire zipping around the office floor. In fact, the only Frost he really asks about is Selene, though occasionally he enquires as to the health of Sarah and Emma.

"She's doing great. For the first couple of days, I was worried that she was going to be some kind of wallflower, you know? Like she'd prefer to just sit and be quiet, let all the other kids answer the questions."

"And was she?" Aster asks, and he can _hear_ the inflections of a smirk in the Australian's tenor tones.

"Pfft," Jack scoffs "of course not. Last Friday, she put a whoopee cushion on Mr North's chair. Apparently it took ten minutes for him to calm the class down."

"Yeah, Alexander told me all about that. Y'know what, I'm glad they're in the same class – those two have been inseparable since they were little ankle-biters, wouldn't feel right to have 'em apart. Know what I mean?" Aster muses, and there's a lilt of gratitude to his words.

"Definitely. Kinda like you and me." Jack smirks, and immediately snorts into chuckles at the sarcastic groan that reverberates throughout the small cubicle to his left.

"Shut up, Frostbite. You're a pain in the arse and you know you are." Aster snaps, though he can't hide the good humour in his voice. Much like Selene and Alexander, the two of them have been best friends since elementary school – even Sarah once observed that the blue-black haired man's grumpiness was always tempered by Jack's irrepressible (well, used to be irrepressible) joviality, whilst simultaneously keeping the Frost son grounded and down to earth.

"You love me really." Jack chuckles teasingly, and try as he might Aster can't help but chortle along with him.

"Against my better judgement, yeah. Say…you heard anything from…"

And that's the moment where the good humour is punctured, the chuckles dwindle to small exhalations of breath, and Jack's expression of nostalgic amusement falls to a frown. While it is true that Aster has respectfully chosen not to broach the subject of Elsa's reappearance, he's also a big fan of _not_ burying your head in the sand but tackling problems head on. Jack knew the topic would come up eventually, though he is thankful that the gruff Australian did give him a lot of time and space before addressing the elephant in the room.

"No," Jack says quietly, "nothing for a week. I guess she actually listened to her sister, for once."

"That or she's gone again. I mean, let's face it; you gave her a reception that was colder than a polar bear's gonads. Everyone knows she's back and none of them are happy about it except Anna so…she's probably feeling a little bit like an enemy of the state right now." Aster points out. Unable to resist rolling his eyes, Jack lets out a sharp scoff in response.

"Yeah well, maybe she should. Anyway, why are you defending her?"

"I'm not," comes the firm response, "trust me, I've a few choice things to say to her and none of them are for young ears like yours. Fuck, I was the one that had to bloody pick up the pieces. All I'm saying is…you're not gonna find out why she ran away until you talk to her. There are two sides to every story, mate. This situation is no exception – and I gotta admit, Anna was right. Helluva way to make an entrance, but I reckon she might actually be serious about coming back."

"Forgive me if I don't believe you," Jack growls as he reaches over to the headset, struck with the acute feeling that he'd rather be berated by a random member of the public than continue this particular topic, "let's just say that right now I trust her almost as much as I trust Hans to suddenly grow a conscience."

"Jack-"

"Bunny, drop it. I really don't want to talk about this right now." he sighs as he wearily slides the headset over his ears and automatically reaches over to hit the enter key, thereby starting a new call. It's a mechanical movement developed over a few years that eliminates the need to look at the computer screen, though the telephone numbers tend to bleed into one after a while.

The customary tones of a call awaiting connection graces his ears like a semblance of stability after a hard and emotional conversation, and for a few seconds Jack is thankful for it – at least he'll have something else to focus on other than the suspicious questioning of his wife's motives. It isn't long before the dull click of someone picking up the phone at the other end of the line reaches his ears, and before he knows it – and indeed, before the person has even spoken – he's already reeling off the company-mandated spiel with forced brightness, a plastic smile and robotic precision.

"Hello, my name is Jack Frost and I'm calling on behalf of-"

He is interrupted _again_ , but not by the sound of someone slamming the receiver down, nor by the blistering tirade for daring to call. No, this is _worse_. This is Murphy's Law on an ironic level.

" _Jack?"_

His heart stops dead in his chest as her gentle, serene and still-so-goddamn-beautiful voice caresses his ears, and he feels the unwelcome tingle in his face of the blood rushing away to fuel the churning of his stomach. It's yet another out-of-left-field occurrence that steals his ability to speak, and he feels the cubicle walls start to become that little bit more claustrophobic.

" _It's me, Elsa…"_

And then, upon confirmation that he isn't hearing things and that there is a god that lives to screw with his life, a cascade of emotions rush forth that all battle for domination – yet the skirmish is infinitely shorter than it was at the parking lot. He knows that this is the second time he has been caught off-guard, the second time that her sweet voice has caused a dual reaction of tingling butterflies and the urge to stab his eardrums with a pencil.

So he does what is heretofore unknown in the cold-calling environment, an action that straddles the line between scandal and heresy depending on how avid an employee you are – he reaches a trembling hand over to the enter key, and hangs up. Had he been thinking straight he would have made a note of the irony, but an involuntary flick of his eyes to the telephone number on the screen confirms the truth – she's still here.

For the second time in ten minutes, he awkwardly grasps at the thin metal headset resting on his hair roughly tears it off, and practically _pitches_ it baseball style at the cheap cubicle wall in front of him so he lean forward and bury his face into his shaking hands.

"Of all the telephone numbers in the entire freaking country," he murmurs into his palms, "I had to call Anna's."

He isn't aware of how heavy his breathing is as he tries desperately to untie the knot in his gut and calm his racing heart, hoping to regain some semblance of his prior mood. Of course, Aster's ears are, as always, sharp as a scalpel.

"You okay mate? You sound like you're having a good fap."

He slides his hands an inch down his face so he can open his eyes and attempt to cultivate a response, but despite the fact that they are inanimate objects and are thus incapable of self-propelled movement, the cubicle walls feel as though they are merely inches from his face.

 _I need to get out of here._

The words _"cover for me"_ escape from his lips as he shoots to his feet, the force of his abrupt rise causing the wheeled office chair to slide backwards into the aisle behind him, and without waiting for a response from his closest friend he retrieves his black military jacket from under his desk and sweeps out of the cubicle.

"Yeah okay," the gruff and sarcastic Australian accent follows him, "let me find my inflatable Jack Frost doll in case the boss does the rounds, ya gumby."

Had his mind not been a complete and utter shambles, he probably would have laughed at that.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **I realise I haven't updated this in weeks, and for that I apologise. I do want to continue this story and I will, but in a slightly different format.**

 **The issue, frankly, is _Of Ghosts and Valkyries._ It's such a monster that, when I sit down and start to write something, it's invariably what I end up writing. My comedy one-shot _A Series of Mishaps For Chocolate Fudge Cake,_ my music four-shot _If Music Be the Food of Love, I'm Not Hungry, The Fall of Jack Frost_ and _Ex-Valentine's Day: Tease Me_ (all Jelsa) have kind of fallen by the wayside as nearly all of my inspiration, writing thoughts and planning has been devoted to OGaV. **

**The last thing I want to do is put this story on hiatus, I won't do that. If a story isn't going to work out in the long run, I'm not going to write it in the first place, because I don't want you lovely people to click on an update to find that a story has been put on indefinite hold or cancelled. _Raising Selene_** **will** **be completed, one way or another.**

 **So from here on out, so I don't basically burn myself out balancing two fanfics, I have been inspired by _Possibility_ and have taken a leaf from zulka's book (in a manner of speaking) and am going to continue _Raising Selene_ in a sort-of-yet-not drabble fic. 1-2k word chapter updates whenever I can muster them, with the occasional meaty chapter. It might change later on back to full-length chapters, but I shall see what the muses bring.**

 **The reason for this is: _Raising Selene_ has gained a following that I was (and still am) surprised at, and more than a few people have been asking about when the next update is going to be. I feel that I am doing you all a deep injustice by essentially ignoring this fic because I don't have the creative energy to write 8k word chapters, you deserve better than that. So I hope you will bear with me, and understand my reasoning - this way, I reckon I can juggle both fics quite comfortably. Shorter chapters, but the same story.**

 **Thank you all for reading, reviewing, following and favouriting my humble fanfic, and thank you for your patience and understanding. I sincerely hope that you will still enjoy what I write.**

 **The next chapter is set around the same time, from Elsa's perspective.**

 **Peace out,**

 **Furiyan**


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